Discomfort and Joy
by Aduro
Summary: A War-Time Christmas Story in a New AU. Detective-Auror Draco Malfoy is forced to spend the holiday with a few Order Members at the Burrow after the Auror Department falls to Death Eaters. It's the time for miracles, so maybe they'll all get along...
1. The Fall of the Aurors

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: I have not abandoned The Code series. This is just a fun, holiday breather which will be completed by around New Year's. It is a new AU, so there are differences. Mostly from book six and on.

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**London, England**

**Auror Department, IRS**

**December 18th**

**1:34 pm  
**

Their time was up.

Captain Buchannan stared at the missive on his desk. The ink shone in the light, glistening like filthy black oil.

_Captain Buchannan,_

_Your presence is requested in the Minister's Office._

_~Pius Thicknesse_

He knew who Thicknesse was, or rather, who he had been. The past month had brought several inexplicable changes to his character. The Head of Magical Law Enforcement had never been a friendly man, but now he had become cold and cruel. He had never been able to withstand the pressure of the Ministry, but now he bowed to the Wizengamot's every whim. He had been graced with the ability to see his own faults, and fix his own mistakes, but now he turned a blind eye to the slow death of the Auror Department.

Buchannan suspected the Imperius, his entire division did, but there was nothing to be done. The other Auror squads had already fallen. First it was Internal Investigations, infiltrated by Death Eaters in order to spy on the inner workings of England's police force. Through II, the Death Eaters spread to the rest of the force. Business and Fraud was next. Companies owned by Muggle-borns were seized, their funds siphoned off to businesses sympathetic to the Pureblood cause. The Head Hunters fell soon after. The most informal of all divisions, made up of bounty hunters and thrill seekers, had begun to tread on the Dark Lord's robes, arresting prominent Death Eaters and lowly minions alike. The Special Task Force, responsible for undercover, sting, and protective operationgs, held out for as long as possible, but with Thicknesse firing, and occasionally arresting, good Aurors left and right, even the STF couldn't stand for long.

Now they were turning their eyes upon his division, upon his men.

The IRS had the smartest, most capable Aurors in the field. His men weren't just law enforcement, they were detectives, responsible for solving burglaries, assaults and homicides. Not only did they use their wands, chasing down suspects and occasionally assisting the STF and Head Hunters, they used their brains, following clues and using deductive reasoning. He only took the best on his squad, and in return, they gave their best every day.

Yes, he was damned proud of his men. And women. They'd held on for as long as they could, ignoring the mounting pressure from the Ministry to turn in Muggle-borns and Potter supporters. They refused to take bribes from Ministry officials, on the stipulation that they let convicted Death Eaters slide through the system. They refused even when threatened. They refused to allow their Muggle-born co-workers be forced off the squad when Scrimgeour suggested that it might help 'keep the peace'. They had all laid down their badges, prepared to walk out, before the Minister had relented.

They had done well, something Buchannan needed to tell them more often. In truth, working with these men – and women – occasionally humbled him. He couldn't have hoped for any better result than this. The Ministry had been under siege since late August. Internal Investigations had been seized two weeks later. It was December now. Almost Christmas time. Over one hundred days. That was how long his men, and women, had stood, defying the odds.

But Buchannan could smell the change in the air, a tangy scent, one reminiscent of blood. Scrimgeour couldn't hold out much longer. He would be killed and Pius Thicknesse, the Dark Lord's puppet, would be put in his place to rule.

Buchannan tossed the paper missive into the fire. He wouldn't be walking up the stairs to join whatever Death Eaters had congregated. He would be leaving. But he had one last task to perform.

Buchannan stood and opened his office door. The brightly lit bullpen was a veritable maze of desks. Adding to the usual clutter were outlandish Christmas decorations. Flying mistletoe sprigs swooped from corner to doorway and garland drooped around the walls. Apparently his detectives could apprehend the world's most dangerous wizards but couldn't cast a proper sticking charm. Red and gold lights were tacked up with greater success. By the two desks on the side of the room, the lights had been changed to green and silver. The youngest of the detectives felt all Christmas colors, not just the Auror hues, should be represented. A few paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling, releasing a puff of white glitter whenever they gusted in the wind. With all of the paper plane memos flying about the ceiling, that was quite often.

A fat Christmas tree barely fit in the far corner. It was gaudily decorated, with a truly garish, blinking star on top. Presents had been stacked underneath it. Buchannan felt a moment of regret. The office knew they weren't likely to make it to Christmas, but the department party had still been planned and presents gathered. It would have been a good Christmas this year.

Buchannan turned his attention to his detectives. Even with the flashy decorations, it was easy to focus on his men (and women). Sometimes Buchannan didn't know if he was running the IRS, or a nursery.

"Give me a kiss, won'tcha darling?" Pat Savage entreated, holding up a twig of mistletoe. His merry brown eyes and wide, smiling mouth were a direct contrast to his family name.

Delia Proudfoot, blonde, athletic, and impeccably attired, sparked the mistletoe to ash with one quick spell. Pat yelped and dropped the plant as his fingers burned.

"Shot down in flames," called out Will Williamson, who then laughed at his own play on words.

Ellington Hawke shot the younger Auror a dark, unimpressed look and then returned to his papers. From this distance it was impossible to tell if he was doing actual work, or if he was filling out the Daily Prophet crossword. Whichever one, it wasn't doing a good job of holding his attention. His gaze kept drifting towards Penelope Farraday, a self-conscious, self-proclaimed wallflower, who was blushing for Pat.

"Don't give up too easily," called out the department secretary Madeline Henwick, a wizened old witch. She wore a Santa hat over her white hair, the bells on the end jingling whenever she moved. "I think she protests too much."

"By the end of the holiday," said Pat to Delia.

"Please," said Delia. "You'd have better luck with a banshee."

"Five says Delia kick's his ass," said Gordon Harding.

"Ten says she kisses him by New Year's," Will returned, always ready to support his partner, even if the deck was stacked against Pat.

"Fifteen says Pat ends up in the hospital by New Year's," said Delia with a dirty glare.

"Twenty says she goes to dinner with me," said Pat, sinking down on one knee in front of Delia's chair.

"I'll pay, if only to end this ill-fated romance and save us all a headache," came a new droll voice.

Two detectives had just stepped out of the elevator, long red-leather coats wet with melting snow. Upon their entry, the bells above the elevator chimed out a chorus of 'Joy to the World' and a flutter a paper snowflakes drifted to the ground.

"Sunshine!" Pat greeted, his voice chorused with the rest of the office.

Buchannan cleared his throat when he saw the scowl on his newly-arrived Detective's face. The youngest Auror detested the nickname, and insults could be traded for the rest of the day if not checked right in the beginning. Buchannan knew; it had happened before.

At the sound of their boss, the room immediately quieted. Expectant faces turned to their captain and Buchannan tried to smile, not because everything was going to be okay, but because he appreciated each and every one of his detectives.

"I'm afraid our luck has run out," he said. "I have been asked to meet with the head of our department, and we all know what comes next."

A very quick sacking and occasionally imprisonment at Azkaban if he didn't leave quietly. It had happened to Kurt 'the Fury' Gallop, captain of the Head Hunters and Regina Persley, head of Business and Fraud.

"I want to say," he continued, not giving his men – and women – time to react that the news, "that you deserve to be proud of yourselves. You have not been derelict in your service to your country. You have upheld the law, even at risk to yourselves and your loved ones. When this war is over, you will be remembered as the few, brave faithful who did not bend and who did not break and who did not let the IRS be tarnished by the actions of our Ministry.

"At this time, however, we are left with no options. I have no doubt that to remain here is suicide, and we still have a public to serve. There is a resistance, gentlemen – and ladies. A resistance that I will fight for in order to ensure the survival of the values we hold dear, values such as freedom, and honor, and justice only measured by a fair hand. I cannot ask that you join, because you have given so much of yourselves already, and for that you have my deepest gratitude, but I believe you have more to offer, and that now, at this moment, you are needed more than ever."

Buchannan paused, meeting each and every one of his detectives' gaze.

"I am proud, no, I am honored to have been able to serve with you. I thank you, most adamantly, for your diligence."

He nodded, having said all he needed. From the side of the room, the droll voice spoke again.

"A speech worthy of any theatrical performance, although the stirring strings section was sorely lacking. Might I suggest use of a timpani too – oof!"

The voice cut off as his partner elbowed him in the ribs. "Shut it, Sunshine."

But the moment had already passed, and Buchannan wasn't resentful. His men – and women – didn't cope well with dramatics. In their eyes, they weren't heroes or legends, just regular men and women, overworked and underpaid, but glad to do their job.

He smiled at his detectives and then saluted. His men (and women) snapped to attention. He had never seen them salute so crisply, in perfect synchronism, their faces all reflecting a shared determinism. With what he knew his detectives were capable of, the war could only go one way.

"Alright, boys," Pat Savage drawled. "And ladies," he added with a wink. "Let's clear out and find us some Death Eaters to fight."

"You won't have far to look," said a hard voice in the back of the room.

His detectives swung around, wands appearing in their hands and leveling at the intruders in a blink of the eye. Buchannan held his own wand loosely at his side. How had they come in?

"We had hoped you might display some form of higher intelligence," the black-robed figure said.

Buchannan couldn't identify the Death Eater just by the voice, and a mask covered his face. His compatriots, all fourteen of them, spread out behind him, similarly masked.

"But you were always a bit of a heroic, Albert."

That was directed at him, and now Buchannan raised his wand. There was only one man who called him by his despised given name.

"Yaxley," he said, and cast the first curse.

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**Diagon Alley, England**

**December 18th**

**2:51 pm**

Snow whipped around the darkened, battered buildings. The streetlamps shone weakly, adding their dim, yellow glow to the fading, muffled light of the afternoon sun, blocked by the thick, grey clouds that hung low in the sky. The wind shrieked as it whistled through deserted alleys and through broken, boarded windows.

Draco pressed his sweater further into the wound on his partner's chest. Blood soaked through the pale blue cashmere, turning it a deep burgundy and welling over his fingers. His body shuddered from the cold, his muscles seizing and tightening, but he made no move towards his hastily discarded coat. The long, red leather duster flapped in the wind, skidding slightly across the sidewalk, but the weight of the coat kept it from tearing away in the gusts.

"Damnit," he breathed out through still clenched teeth. Tears, born of the frigid air and desperation, stung at the corner of his eyes. His eyes and his hands, buried by his partner's blood, were his only sources of warmth. His arms were bare, his chest and back covered by a thin, wet t-shirt. The snow that had collected on the cotton had melted from the warmth of his skin, but now it was beginning to freeze to his shoulders. His legs were completely numbed from kneeling on the frozen ground, even though he'd only been stemming the flow of blood from his partner's chest for a matter of minutes. He could feel the gush of blood slow. It was no longer pumping forth, but slowing to a stream. Draco pressed down harder.

"Don't die. Don't die. Don't die," he chanted. The words were chattered, his teeth knocking together. The stream slowed to a trickle.

Draco struggled for his wand. It was fallen from his hand and partially wedged under his partner's side. His blood-slicked fingers nearly lost purchase on the hawthorn wood, but he tightened his grip and cast the blood replenishing charm for the third time. He followed that with an energy spell and renewed the pacemaking charm to keep his heart beat steady. He hoped the pain-numbing charm was still working. He didn't have the strength to cast another. Already, he could tell his spells were weakening. There was no outrush of blood from the wound, which would be indicative of a large deposit of red cells. Instead the flow peaked, then abated again.

The tears spilled, freezing on his cheeks. Draco leaned over his partner, raising one bloody hand to the still face, and the vivid, lethal green curse cut through the air, right where his head had once been. It left a searing stench of sulfur. Draco didn't stop to swear in frustration, or wonder how they had been found again. Instead, he rolled his partner over, onto his discarded coat. A quick lightening charm, and he grabbed the red leather sleeve and ran, bent at the waist and dragging his partner behind him. He strained to see any sort of shelter through the ever thickening snow.

Curses were flung, badly aimed, but still deadly. Draco dragged in quick breaths, his lungs seizing in the cold, the white-hot pain a counterpoint to the arctic weather. He turned down a small alley, towing his unconscious partner into relative safety, and then he grasped his wand again and ducked down near the entrance.

Colored lights flew by in bursts, fireworks he had once seen at the Quidditch World Cup. Several green lights. Too many green lights. He liked green, didn't he? Draco leaned against the brick building behind him and then abruptly sank to the ground as his knees gave out. He stared at his legs, wondering if they were still attached to his body because he couldn't feel them anymore.

A flash of orange hit the wall across from him, just on the edge. It collided with a shower of gold sparks that made him turn his head from the blinding glitter. When he looked back, a few bricks were gone, torn out from the wall and lying in crumbled dust on the ground.

Draco didn't notice the crescendo of spells, or the shouts that were nearly lost in the shrieking wind. His mind had detached from the cold, from the pain, and from his fight for survival. Instead, he focused on one thing.

He tipped himself over, onto his hands. He managed to crawl the few feet to his partner. He pressed again on his sopping sweater. The blood was turning to slush, meaning it was freezing over, meaning that no new, warm blood was draining out to counteract the cold. He leveled his wand, trying to think of the charm that might keep his partner alive just a few minutes longer. He couldn't think of the words. His wand wavered in his grasp.

He didn't need to remember the words, just the intent, the motions, that should be enough, just _think_! The warm, white light shone from his wand. His partner jerked under the force of the spell, the slowing heart finding more plasma and red cells to distribute throughout the injured body.

Draco collapsed over his partner, a shallow breath of air leaving his lips in triumph.

A figure stepped into the alley, visible in the lesser flurry of snow. Draco stumbled back, grasping his coat again, trying to drag his partner away while raising his wand. The coordination of the movement eluded his frozen limbs and sluggish mind. He stumbled, not releasing the coat or his wand, so he hit the ground on his elbow and side. It jarred him enough to find one last burst of strength.

His wand sparked. The curses flew out, as strong as ever, but his hand shook. His whole arm wavered. The spells blasted through the stores to either side, forcing the figure back into the street, completely unharmed.

Draco staggered to his feet, still clenching the red leather in one hand, wand in the other. His feet carried him four steps, and then the figure had returned, this time accompanied by two others.

Draco could have screamed in anger, in frustration. He had tried, sweet Merlin, he had tried. He raised his wand once more. There were voices over the wind, urgent and loud, but he couldn't even hear the howling of the storm. Couldn't feel the icy grip of a Dementor-influenced December blizzard.

The snow seemed to be falling faster, harder. His vision was turning white all around. He suddenly thought he must be caught in an avalanche, because he didn't know if he standing or sinking into a myriad of snow.

Something struck his head. It wasn't hard, but he had the vague feeling that this empty echo of a sensation should be pain. Someone had spilled paint. The snow was no longer white, but black, and it was covering him, burying him until there was nothing but darkness.

Arthur Weasley waited until Detective-Auror Draco Malfoy of the IRS crumpled to the ground next to his partner and Order member Kingsley Shacklebolt, before attempting another rescue.

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**England, Location Confidential**

**The Burrow**

**5:19 pm**

Arthur sat at the table, his hands wrapped around a cup of hot tea. For a few minutes, when he had been out in the blizzard, fighting the Death Eaters, he had wondered if he was every going to be warm again. Now, sitting at the kitchen table with a fire roaring in the fireplace, with dry clothes and thick socks on, he finally felt comfortable.

Comfortable was perhaps the wrong word. Very little had been comfortable since the summer. He had watched the Ministry gradually collapse until only Death Eaters remained. The clock on the kitchen wall reported that all of his children were in constant peril. His home was on the top of the list for Voldemort to find.

Just today he had witnessed the end of the Auror Department in which a very good friend and Order member was grievously injured. Kingsley Shacklebolt was being tended to by his wife and second-oldest child. Molly had worked as a Healer's aide before marrying Arthur, and Charlie had advanced medical training, a necessity for working with dragons. They hadn't come downstairs yet.

Arthur and Tonks had focused their attention on a very different sort of problem: Draco Malfoy.

The boy hadn't woken up once, not since his collapse in Diagon Alley. He'd been half-dead by the time the rescuers had returned to the Burrow, but freezing to death in the wizarding world was a very rare occurrence. Several potions were able to restore frozen tissue and raise the core body temperature. According to Tonks, the boy might sleep for two days, but he would suffer no permanent damage.

The boy's well-being was not the problem. It was _a_ problem, to be sure, but the more pressing matter involved his presence in the Burrow. With 12 Grimmauld Place gone, the Burrow was one of the last havens for the Order of the Phoenix and Arthur did not know if the boy was to be trusted.

There were footsteps on the stairs and then Molly and Charlie appeared. Both appeared weary, but they were smiling widely. Arthur smiled too and then got up to pour them both a cup of tea. Tonks and Remus came in from the living room and Arthur grabbed two more cups. The five settled around the table.

Only five and it was Christmas time. The Burrow should have been full of people, all seven of his children and their various friends and, in Bill's case, spouse. Molly should be cooking up a feast in the kitchen, enough to feed an army. The younger generation should be chatting by the fire over cups of hot chocolate. The radio should be playing softly, filling the room with classic holiday music.

Instead, the family was forced apart. Charlie had made it back from Romania and his dragons, but just barely. Bill and Fleur were settled in their little home, not a large distance away, but the Floo was being monitored and there were anti-Apparation wards on the Burrow. Other means of public transportation would be watched, especially for such prominent Potter-supporters like the Weasley family. It would be difficult to make the trip.

Percy still had not contacted the family.

Fred and George were stuck in their shop on Diagon Alley. Instead of being arrested for publicly supporting Harry Potter and providing 'weaponry' to the rebellion, Fred and George had simply hid in the secret basement of their store. Lee Jordan, founder of Potterwatch, had already been living there with his radio broadcasting equipment. But the Death Eaters had never truly left the store. There were hourly patrols up and down Diagon Alley, and while Fred and George could leave for supplies, getting out of the market was nearly impossible. The Death Eaters had set up checkpoints at all entry and exit points.

Ron was somewhere with Harry and Hermione. It hurt Arthur to think that the fate of the wizarding world was resting solely on one boy's shoulders. He didn't think it was fair. Hadn't Harry suffered enough? And where Harry went, Ron followed. Arthur couldn't protect his son, not when he didn't know what sort of mission Harry was on. The secrecy pained him. The fact that Ron was so closely tied to Harry scared him.

Ginny was safe at Hogwarts. While Dumbledore remained in control of the school, she would be cared for and looked after. Leaving Hogwarts would mean stepping out from that safety, and again, the trains were being watched. The Death Eaters would love to capture the girlfriend of the Boy-Who-Lived. It was stupid to risk her safety for a mere holiday. The best gift Arthur could receive was the continued safety of his children.

Arthur pulled himself from his musings. There were seven residing at the Burrow now, and while Draco Malfoy wasn't his first choice for a house guest, Kingsley was a good friend.

"How's Kingsley?" Arthur asked.

"Lucky," said Charlie. He wrapped his hands around the mug like his father. "He took a slicing hex to the chest, severing an artery and damaging his heart. Nearly all the blood that was in him was from blood-replenishing charms. The wound had been staunched with a sweater, which I'm guessing belongs to Malfoy."

It would explain why the boy was wearing a t-shirt in the middle of a blizzard.

"And even with that, and the blood charms, the only reason Kingsley is alive right now is because of the cold. It slowed his heart enough to prevent a fatal blood loss and relieved the pressure on the damaged muscle."

"So he'll recover," said Tonks.

Charlie nodded. "He'll need to stay completely level for the next twenty-four hours, but after that, he'll be up in no time, no lasting damage. He already woke up once. He wasn't real coherent, but he was asking about his partner."

Arthur found Molly's eyes. "Ginny did write," he said.

The non-sequitor threw the rest of the table.

"What did she write?" Charlie asked.

Molly took a sip of her tea before answering. "She managed to get us a letter. She mentioned that Kingsley was at Hogwarts investigating a series of attacks and that Draco Malfoy was his partner. She wasn't sure if he was Ministry plant or not, but he did get Umbridge sacked."

"So chances are he's legitimately an Auror," said Charlie.

"So it would seem," said Remus.

"How is he?" asked Molly.

"Sleeping," Tonks supplied. "He'll be out for a couple of days as his temperature rises."

Molly nodded and then looked over to Arthur, eyebrow raised.

"I put him on the ground floor," said Arthur.

"Right next to you and mom?" Charlie asked.

Arthur shrugged. "I've never had a Malfoy in my house before. I want to keep an eye on him."

"A Malfoy who is an Auror," said Tonks. "Now there's a story I want to hear."

* * *

Rest assured, the Decoding will continue after New Years, but I needed a break, so here's a late Christmas present for you all. The story will be complete around New Years, so look for frequent updates! Please leave a review on your way out.


	2. Introductions

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter…but I would like to.

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**England, Location Confidential**

**The Burrow**

**December 19****th**

**11:22 am**

Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the most highly decorated Aurors of the Investigation and Retrieval Squad, opened his eyes to see paper snowflakes drifting from the ceiling. They wafted through the air before settling gently on the ground and disappearing to start their descent all over again.

Having ascertained, before he opened his eyes, that he was in no immediate danger, he watched the charmed paper with a small amount of amusement, and then turned to the rest of the room. Old, faded wallpaper. Ancient, but well-cared for, room furniture. Neatly stacked books on the tiny desk and bookshelf and on top of the dresser. He was lying in a bed with a chipped, but highly polished headboard.

He smiled. Percy Weasley's old room. He was at the Burrow.

Merlin in a mini-skirt. He was at the Burrow. He must have been rescued by Order members. He was last with Draco.

Kingsley sat up in absolute terror. There was a blinding pain in his chest, he could actually feel his heart contract and then refuse to release. He fell straight back, a gasp halted in agony, and then the door was flung open and Molly rushed in.

With efficiency that would have made any Healer proud, she cast a diagnostic charm, forced a vial of something torrid down his throat, and then sat back while his heart relaxed and started pumping blood again.

"You tried to get up, didn't you?" she asked.

Her hands were on her hips, head cocked to the side. Oh, yes. She was more than unimpressed.

"Molly," said Kingsley. He meant to follow her name with a question to his partner's whereabouts, but his voice croaked over the word and then stopped working. Molly poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on the nearby dresser. Kingsley took the glass from her, not allowing her to hold it to his lips. She was a good woman, Molly Weasley, but she couldn't seem to stop her mothering streak on anyone who was ten years younger than herself and without their own family in close vicinity.

That actually applied to his partner and Kingsley began to hope that her caring nature would naturally transfer to Draco despite his unfortunate parentage.

Kingsley took a swallow of water and tried again. "Molly." His voice was stronger that time. Pleased, he started to continue, but Molly spoke over him.

"Arthur says the Auror floor in the Ministry has been completely destroyed. There's been no report of any fatalities from your side, but information has been scarce. I take it your division was ambushed?"

Kingsley nodded. "We were the last division standing, and Yaxley knew we wouldn't be Voldemort's lackeys. They must have been planning the attack for awhile because the Floo was down and the emergency Portkeys were deactivated. Now there's no one left to protect the Ministry…," he trailed off. "Molly," he said. "Is-,"

"Your Captain managed to get word out to a few Order members and other former Aurors through Potterwatch. We didn't know there were so many willing to fight."

"The station has been circulating through the Aurors," said Kingsley. "Buchannan must have known people would be listening. Molly, about-,"

"You're also lucky that Remus can track even through a blizzard. The only reason you survived was because it was so cold. You were bleeding badly, but the blood had started to freeze over. The cashmere helped."

Kingsley blinked. "Cashmere?" But that was just a detail. He had a partner to worry about. "Molly, listen, I was with-,"

"Draco Malfoy," said Molly.

Kingsley stopped and studied the Weasley mother. Her hair was showing more grey than ever. It was pulled back into a bun, a few tendrils escaping to curl around her lined face. Her mouth was set and her gaze guarded, but the deep set laugh lines and crows feet beside her eyes spoke of a lifetime of love and nurture.

"Is he okay?" he asked.

"He's sleeping," said Molly. "Has been since both of you were brought back here yesterday."

Kingsley tried to sit up, concern spiking through him and once again his heart seemed to glitch. Molly stepped forward and easily pushed him down with one hand. It was slightly embarrassing.

"You lie still," she ordered. "You took an Acer curse to your chest and it did some damage to your heart. You'll recover fine provided you lay still for another day."

"Acer?" Kingsley asked. The slicing hex was deadly, preventing the wound to be resealed with a basic healing charm. The only way it could be stopped was with a potion of dittany and moonstone. Having caught one in the middle of battle, he shouldn't be alive.

Molly gave a wry smile. "You have a very dedicated partner, Auror Shacklebolt."

She was surprised, of course she was. Kingsley knew it would be hard for the Weasleys to see any good in his partner because he was, unquestionably, a Malfoy. But Draco had a way of surprising people. It seemed to be a habit of his.

Right now Kingsley was surprised to find himself alive after the tangle he remembered very little about. He remembered Lucius targeting his partner, and then pulling Draco away before Lucius could lay a hand on him. He remembered getting hit by the hex in retaliation, and then only flashes. The destruction of the IRS office. Draco Apparating them both away, first to a train station, then an empty field. But they were followed. Couldn't seem to lose their pursuers. Then a cold, snowy street. Draco pressing on his bloody chest, leaning over him, his grey eyes wide and desperate.

"How bad is Draco hurt?" Kingsley asked.

"A few bruises, a few scrapes. The main problem is his body temperature. He was outside in the storm without a coat for too long. He collapsed and hit his head, which knocked him out, but he's just sleeping now. He'll wake up when his body has recovered."

Kingsley frowned. Outside without a coat? And then he remembered Molly's earlier words.

"Cashmere," he said, knowing what his partner had done.

"Saved your life," agreed Molly. "Not something you expect to see a Malfoy doing."

Kingsley just smiled. He'd been partnered with Draco for over a year now, ever since the boy dropped out of school after fifth year OWLs. Well, Draco had officially been a consultant until he turned seventeen, but the fact of the manner was he had seen Draco saving lives on numerous occasions.

"We'll let you keep your secrets for now," said Molly, "but there's a household of curious Order members who aren't just going to let the Malfoy in the room go unspoken of. Now, if you're feeling a bit peckish, I have two kinds of soup, chicken and tomato. I can make you a cheese toastie, if you want the tomato, or I have some nice, soft French bread if you want chicken. Or, if you're feeling hungry, I can make you a sandwich to tie you over until dinner. Its three o'clock now, so-,"

Kingsley let his head rest fully against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. He sincerely hoped his partner wasn't going to wake up until he could get out of this confounded bed. He didn't know how his partner was going to react to waking up alone in a house full of Weasleys and other various Gryffindors.

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**England, Location Confidential**

**The Burrow**

**December 19****th**

**7:22 pm**

Draco was tired. That was the first sensation he experienced when he rolled over in the bed. His eyes fluttered open to rest upon a poster of the Weird Sisters and then closed due to his overall exhaustion. The blankets were warm around him, but he still felt chilled. He curled up tight, tugging the pillow down as well and the soft flannel pillow case brushed against his cheek.

Flannel.

Weird Sisters.

Draco opened his eyes and sat up. For a minute, his sore, aching body was all he could process, but once the initial feeling of being bruised all over passed, his mind registered the pale yellow walls and the light blue area carpet. The bed covers were roughly the same shade of blue with sprigs of pink blossoms. The desk by the window had magically preserved blooms in a vase. It wasn't a girly room, per se, as the bedding and a bud vase were the only appearances of pink, but that was a poster of the Weird Sisters and on the opposite wall was a poster of the Harpies. It was definitely a girl's room. Why was he in a girl's room?

Draco pushed back the covers, got to his feet, and noticed he wasn't wearing his own clothes either. He was in a pair of striped pajama pants with a drawstring waist. And from the size of them, whoever's they were, they were a good stone heavier than him. Same with the shirt. Although it wasn't too long, it was baggy. And the two articles clashed horribly as well. The pants were green and blue and yellow. The shirt was red, and now that he was looking at it, was that a Gryffindor lion on the front?

His head snapped up and he took in the room with a growing sense of dread. The room held nearly nothing of value, all the furniture being old and worn, albeit clean and well mended. And it was a small room, a tiny room. And was that photo on the desk of a family of red-heads? And as that other photo…yes, it was Granger and Potter.

Oh Merlin. He was at the Weasley's.

He sat back on the bed. He must have stood up to quickly, that was why he felt so light-headed. He closed his eyes tightly, willing the room to transform or disappear. Even the Dark Lord's dungeons would be preferably to this.

He opened his eyes. The room hadn't changed, and still looked disappointingly solid, but there was a sweater and a pair of thick socks folded neatly on the desk chair, waiting for his use. Alright, maybe it wasn't worse than the Dark Lord's dungeons, just…similarly undesirable.

His wand was set on the middle of the desk. He toyed with the notion of Apparating away, or finding some way to leave, but if he was here, so was Kingsley. And he hadn't left his partner to the minions of the Dark Lord, even when they were surrounded. Draco was damned if he was going to simply leave him in the care of the Weasleys.

He shivered, wondering why it was so cold in the room. He quickly put on the socks and then pulled the sweater over his head. It was old, worn, and oddly comforting. It smelled of clean linen, and the only emblem on this was the hieroglyphic for curse breakers. He tried to remember which of the Weasley boys worked with old curses. The oldest, or the second oldest? Will or Charles or some other plebian name. At least the sweater was blue and covered up the horrible t-shirt he was wearing.

Draco grabbed his wand and then crossed the two steps to the door. The room really was ridiculously small. He grabbed the door handle and paused. He, Draco Malfoy, the youngest Detective-Auror in the past hundred years, lost his nerve. The idea of walking out there, confronting who knows how many of the Weasley family and Order members made his stomach turn and an odd pressure built up in his temples.

Merlin, he needed a cigarette.

_Like hell, Malfoy_, he scolded himself harshly. _You quit, remember?_

Besides, how bad could a bunch of do-gooders be? He grabbed for the door handle, swung it open, and stepped into the hall before he could hesitate again.

It was a short hall, with a closed door to the left, another bedroom perhaps? There were voices to the right. No one had noticed his presence yet. He could simply return to the bed and sleep for another few hours. Maybe by then he would find himself in his own apartment in the high-end of wizarding London, and this whole day would have been nothing more than a dream. He wasn't a Gryffindor, after all. He didn't enjoy these sorts of situations. When Slytherins went up against the unknown, they either had a well-constructed escape plan or a pack of crazed followers ready to kill on command. Draco had neither at the moment.

Nevertheless, he turned right and slowly walked towards the noise. The hall opened up, revealing a cluttered, overstuffed living room. There were people sitting around a small table, a card game in front of them. They all looked up when Draco appeared in the doorway.

No doubt, if he was a Gryffindor, he would be able to make his mouth move to form a pleasant greeting and he would simply stroll into the room and take a seat while making a blasé comment about the weather. Perhaps he would even invite himself into their game.

As it was, he stood and stared at them blankly, and they, for all of their trumpeted Gryffindor bravery, stared right back. At least there were only four of them.

A woman with frazzled red hair got up from her chair. She was slightly plump and dressed in a long print skirt and wool cardigan. Her feet were encased in knitted slippers. Draco had only seen her in passing before, not enough to recognize her from any other red-haired woman, but here it was quite obvious who she was.

"Well, you're awake," she said, in the tones of someone who does not know whether the news is pleasing or frightening.

"Yes," said Draco, always a paragon of eloquence.

And there were more blank stares, and those on the sofa and armchairs squirmed and Draco shifted his weight. He began to think he should have just gone back to bed.

"Would…," the woman began, then licked her lips and tried again, "would you like anything to eat?"

Draco was going to say no, but then his stomach twisted, and it wasn't audible, but suddenly he felt very, very hungry, and the light-headedness was starting again, and he suddenly thought that if he did not eat, he was going to pass out, but everyone was staring, watching him, and it was more than uncomfortable, and Merlin, where was Kingsley?

"I don't wish to-," _be any trouble_, was what he meant to say, but only the first four words came out, and then he had to clear his throat. His body decided to realize how thirsty it was then, along with hungry, and his tongue seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth, and he couldn't even swallow. His lips felt rough and cracked.

"I didn't mean to presume," he forced out, taking a step back, and then the woman on the armchair, with the bright pink hair, rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh.

"Merlin's balls, Molly. Can't you see he's as scared of you as you are of him?"

Draco had heard that same phrase before. He was a child, taking a walk with Narcissa along the vast grounds of the Malfoy estate. He had run ahead on the trail and had come across a thestral foal, only a few days old, standing on shaky legs with a hungry, wary look in its black eyes. He had shrieked and run back. His mother had reassured him with those words.

Draco pushed the thought away because he had a suspicious feeling that he was the shaky-legged foal in this situation, and that was just ridiculous because he was a Detective-Auror with the Investigation and Retrieval Squad.

For as ridiculous as he found the notion, the Weasley mother stared at him and Draco blinked as her mouth spread from a thin, pressed line to a gentle smile.

"You poor dear," she said.

Draco took another step back as she suddenly started towards him, and he wasn't retreating, really, he was just trying to find his footing in a defensive stance, and then she was in front of him, reaching up. His head was tipped down by two calloused, but soft hands.

"You look pale. Are you running a fever?" she asked.

"I-," said Draco, not knowing what to say, and then her hand drifted up to his forehead.

"Why, you're freezing!" she exclaimed. "Come into the kitchen. I'll make you some tea while the soup heats up."

"I-," said Draco again, trying to protest, but she was ushering him in, pulling at his arm and pressing at his back, and all he could do was follow where she prodded. He got the distinct impression that those around the card table were laughing, albeit silently, but then they passed through an open doorway into the dining room.

The dining table was only separated from the kitchen by a low counter that jutted out, dividing the room into two. There was a fireplace in each side and Mrs. Weasley guided him into a chair right by the fire.

The additional heat did feel nice. He didn't realize that he was shivering until he sat down in front of the flames. He tucked his shaking hands under his knees and watched as Mrs. Weasley bustled about the kitchen. She put a pot over a stove and then set the kettle. By the time she retrieved a tea cup and saucer, the kettle was whistling and she expertly fixed a cup and placed it in front of him.

"Cream or sugar?" she asked.

"My thanks, but no," said Draco, grateful to fall back on manners he practiced since he could talk.

"Is chicken soup all right? I could put on tomato, if you'd rather, but you look as if you're about to come down with a cold, and the best way to avoid that is with chicken noodle soup. I'll get you some bread too, of course. You missed dinner by a good two hours, but we have some ham left over, and some green beans and a nice rice pilaf. Would you like any of that as well? Or, there's bread and sandwich fixings. How about that?"

Draco's hands clutched his teacup at the onslaught of choices. "Soup is fine," he managed, and then seeing her open her mouth, "The chicken soup," he clarified. "Thank you."

To his relief, the woman nodded and moved off. Draco let out a breath and took a sip of tea. The fire was warm at his back, and the tea slid down easily, heating him from the inside as well. His hands stopped shaking and the shivers lessened. He began to feel drowsy again and blinked rapidly as he found himself staring into his teacup.

"You look exhausted," said Mrs. Weasley beside him.

Draco started, not having realized she had come over. She reached for his forehead again and made a pleased noise.

"But you're thawing out," she pronounced. She set a plate of sliced French bread in front of him, a pat of butter and sliced cheese on the side. "Your soups almost ready, and once you're done eating, you can go right back to bed."

She hurried back to the kitchen. Manners dictated Draco should wait for the soup, but his stomach turned and then rumbled, and a glance at the clock showed him it was eight o clock. He hadn't had anything for breakfast, so he buttered a piece of bread and bit into it. He had finished the first and started the second when she brought a large bowl of soup over and a glass of milk. She didn't seem at all appalled by his lack of table etiquette. Instead she smiled and said, "There's more in the pot, if you're still hungry."

And then she left, and Draco was quite content to eat alone where he didn't have to worry about people watching him devour his food, or dipping the bread into the broth. Then again, the spoon he was given was not a soup spoon, and it wasn't even real silver, and there was no table cloth or napkins. They probably wouldn't even know the correct way to dine.

After two pieces of bread, a few cubes of cheese and nearly half the soup, he finally slowed down enough to take a drink of milk and then actually tasted the soup, instead of shoveling it into his mouth. It was delicious. He wasn't often allowed chicken noodle soup as a child, although it had been a favorite of his, and this soup was incredible. It was spiced perfectly, the noodles were tendered and even the carrots, his least favorite vegetable, were edible.

He took another, larger bite, and smiled. He could manage staying a night with a bunch of Gryffindors, he supposed.

The door in the kitchen opened. Snow and cold air rushed in, and Draco, in a direct line to the door, shivered at the draft. A man came in, stamping his boots and quickly shutting the door behind him. He pulled off his hat, turned, and stared at Draco.

Draco stared back at Mr. Weasley. He wondered what it would be like to walk in and find Mr. Weasley seated at the Malfoy dining table, with the crystal goblets and bejeweled cutlery.

"Arthur, is that you?"

Mrs. Weasley's voice called from the living room, and then there were quick steps and Mrs. Weasley hurried through the open doorway to greet her husband. Draco stared as they embraced, in clear view of anyone who cared to walk through the door, and kissed. He quickly looked down at his soup, and busied himself with eating.

He tried not to hear their quiet conversation, and only a few words were discernable. Then Mrs. Weasley was speaking louder, offering some soup, and Draco tensed as Mr. Weasley walked over to the table and pulled out the chair at the end, two seats from Draco.

Draco tried not to look over, but couldn't help it. Their eyes met. Mr. Weasley nodded; Draco nodded back.

"You look better than when we found you," he said.

Draco blinked and put down his spoon. "Found me?" he asked.

"Diagon Alley. You must be quite the duelist when you can hold your wand steady."

Draco thought back, and flashed upon a desperate attack against figures coming towards him in the snow.

"I thought you were Death Eaters," he said.

To be specific, he thought it was Lucius, coming to Apparate him away.

Arthur smiled, a gentle smile, much like his wife's, and then she was serving him a bowl of soup. Draco returned to eating, deciding to block out the man at the end of the table. Then Mrs. Weasley sat down by her husband with a cup of tea. She kept her hand on his free wrist as he ate.

"Kingsley woke up today," said Mrs. Weasley.

Draco looked up. "Where is-?" he started, and then her words sunk in. "Today?" he asked. "What do you mean, today?"

"You've been here since yesterday," said Mrs. Weasley. "You slept the whole night and most of the day."

"It's Friday?" Draco asked, trying to wrap his head around the fact that he missed nearly an entire day.

"Your temperature was dangerously low," said Mrs. Weasley. "Your body needed to recover."

But still, a whole day?

"You said Kingsley's awake," said Draco, focusing on the important thing.

"Was awake. He's asleep again. You can see him tomorrow when he wakes up."

"And he's okay?" Draco asked.

"He'll heal fine. Right now, he's weak and largely immobile, but he'll be right as rain," said Mrs. Weasley with a smile.

Draco nodded, pleased at the news but irked he couldn't ascertain his partner's condition himself. He turned back to his meal, spooning more soup into his mouth, not bothering to tip the broth to avoid the occasional slurp. He would finish the meal and then figure out where they were keeping Kingsley. It wasn't like he'd broken visiting regulations before.

"How long have you been partnered with Kingsley?"

Draco looked over. Mr. Weasley was watching him, his expression casually interested. Draco knew the look was forced. He knew everyone was dying to know how he, Draco Malfoy, ended up in the Investigation and Retrieval Squad of the Auror Department with none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt as his partner.

"A while," he said. He hoped the short answer would dissuade any further inquiries.

"You're a little young to be an Auror. Recruits are entering the Academy at your age, not carrying a detective's badge."

"There were circumstances," said Draco. Dumbledore had asked the same questions when he had arrived at Hogwarts, not two months ago, to investigate a series of attacks. Draco wondered if Ginny had written her parents about that fiasco. She might not have had opportunity. Even with Dolores Umbridge gone, those students who were believed to be allied with Potter were under close watch from the Ministry and the Death Eaters.

Mr. Weasley looked to his wife. Draco looked back down at his soup.

"Ginny wrote."

Or not.

Draco looked up again, this time at Mrs. Weasley.

"Not much. It's hard to get word, but you threw Dolores Umbridge out of Hogwarts, didn't you?"

Draco gave a one shouldered shrug. "Ms. Umbridge broke the law. The proper actions were taken."

More silence. Draco finished his soup and drank the rest of his milk.

"Would you like anything else?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"No, but thank you," said Draco.

He stood, and started gathering his dishes. He knew, from dining at Kingsley's, that it was polite to clear one's place when finished with a meal. Kingsley had also told him it was polite to offer to help wash the dishes, and that a proper host would deny any assistance from a guest. Kingsley was not a proper host, but then again, they were partners. Draco had noticed that family and close friends often washed the dishes after a meal. It was…friendly, he supposed.

"Oh, sit right down, dear, and finish your tea," said Mrs. Weasley. She jumped to her feet and had whisked the dishes from his hands faster than any house elf Draco had encountered. He sat as bidden though. There was an odd chill when he stood, removing himself even so slightly from the fire. Why was it so frigid in this house? No one else seemed chilled. Mr. Weasley had even taken off his sweater, leaving himself in a generic button down shirt.

Draco finished his tea slowly, relieved that Mr. Weasley asked no more questions. Once he was finished, though, Mr. Weasley stood and motioned for him to do likewise.

Draco warily got to his feet, but Mr. Weasley gave him a tight smile. "Suppose we ought to introduce ourselves right," he said. He stuck out his hand, "Arthur."

Draco was surprised at the first name, but then again, he wasn't a student at Hogwarts anymore. He was a Detective-Auror. He shook his hand cautiously. "Draco," he returned.

"It's a great pleasure to meet you," said Arthur, and Draco was surprised to realize the Weasley patriarch actually meant it.

"Follow me," said Arthur, "and I'll introduce you to the Order members stationed here."

Arthur stepped into the living room, where the same people were gathered.

"There's not many of us here," said Arthur, his voice colored with regret. "We've been finding it hard to travel, but we'll see if Christmas doesn't slacken the patrols."

It wouldn't. The Dark Lord knew the enemy he was fighting, sentimental, loving folk. If anything, the patrols would be heightened, looking for the resistance fighters who just wanted to make it home for the holiday. Draco didn't share his insight with the others, doubting such news would be welcome. Let them hope, he decided.

"You know Remus already, I believe," said Arthur, starting the introductions.

The werewolf was sitting on the couch, his arm around the pink-haired woman. He looked much like he had at Hogwarts, thin and weary, but he was smiling widely, or he had been, but Draco's presence had wiped the grin away. Still, the former professor managed a quirk of the lips.

"Remus was the one who tracked you and Kingsley through the blizzard. A very good nose he has for magical signatures."

Draco gave a short nod. "My thanks."

"You are most welcome," said Lupin, returning the civility.

"The woman next to him is-,"

"Tonks," the pink-haired woman interrupted. She snapped a piece of gum as bright as her hair and slouched further on the couch. "Just Tonks. So, you're the cousin I never met, huh?" She raised black eyebrows and stared, embodying the teenager Draco wasn't.

"Undoubtedly my mother wished to keep your manners from rubbing off on me," said Draco.

He then shut his mouth quickly, because he had a bad habit of 'snark' as Kingsley called it.

There was a heavy pause in the room. Draco was suddenly thankful he felt so cold. No blood rushed to his cheeks. Flushing easily was the curse of fair skin.

Tonks laughed, breaking the silence. It was a surprisingly attractive laugh, not that Tonks wasn't attractive, but the short, pink hair, and the juvenile make-up, and the patched jeans took away from her even, pleasing features. Draco could see the Black in her. The straight, delicate nose. The regal cheekbones and high plane of her forehead. He could see how she detracted from it.

Draco slid his gaze over to Lupin. He saw the hand that was draped over Tonks' shoulders, and the way Lupin smiled when Tonks laughed. He'd keep an eye on the werewolf. Family was family, after all, even if he'd never seen her before today.

"And this is my second oldest, Charlie," Arthur continued. "He works with dragons, or did, until recently."

Charlie was built more heavily than his father who was tall and thin. His profession was obvious by the muscles in his arms and chest.

"Nice to meet you," he said, actually half-rising and sticking out his hand.

Draco shook, half-expecting the Weasley boy to squeeze tightly, as a threat or just a show of crass masculinity, but while his grip was firm, it wasn't unduly hard. His hand was rough and heavily calloused.

"I like your name," said Charlie, sitting back down.

Draco gave a quick smile at the obvious humor. Charlie gave a rueful grin then gestured to the cards on the table.

"Deal you in next hand," he offered.

It was Back-Snap, by the look of the layout. Draco shook his head.

"My thanks, but no. I'm afraid I would make a poor opponent tonight."

"Dear boy is exhausted," said Mrs. Weasley. "Come on, now. Let's get you off to bed."

Draco had a sudden feeling of déjà vu. He was a child again, being shown off for the guests late at night, and then led back to his nursery to keep out of sight.

But his governesses had never guided him gently, it was always by the hand, dragging as he strained to look back at the pretty lights and colors of the party. And his governesses never pulled back the blankets so he could crawl into bed, or settled them gently over him with a motherly pat to the head and a soft "Sleep tight now."

Odd, he thought to himself. He just managed to remember to set an hourglass charm.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England, Location Confidential**

**The Burrow**

**December 19****th**

**10:02 pm**

"He seems harmless," said Molly as they sat around the living room after the last broadcast of Potterwatch.

"You didn't see his repelling charm," said Tonks. "Took out the side of the building." She mimed the impact with her fist hitting the palm of her other hand and then the 'explosion'.

"Be as that may, he was extremely polite," Molly qualified. She turned to Arthur. "What do you think, dear?"

He thought the boy looked as if he was waiting for a boggart to climb out of the nearest closet.

"Yes, very polite," he said honestly. The Malfoy boy had manners, if nothing else.

Tonks snorted. "Probably because he thought you might hex him into next week if he so much as sneezed."

Molly straightened the pillow beside her. "We would do no such thing," she said.

"Do you think he knows that?" Tonks asked. "He probably grew up hearing horror stories about your family."

"Don't be ridiculous, Nymphadora," said Molly severely.

"Like you didn't tell your kids about how awful Lucius Malfoy was, about how he had prisoners in his dungeons and went about pillaging villages?" Tonks challenged.

Arthur actually remembered quite a few rants about Lucius Malfoy. While he didn't think he went as far as 'pillaging villages', he probably did tell his children to stay away from the Malfoys because they wouldn't hesitate to murder or torture for their own gain. Still, he didn't think the reverse could be as frightening. What could Lucius possibly tell his son? That the Weasley family believed in equality and honesty? That they wouldn't hesitate to help anyone in need?

Molly sniffed, but made no comment. Arthur continued to think of their family from Lucius Malfoy's point of view. He didn't think he could quite get the grasp of it.

"I think the point is," said Remus, deciding to play peacekeeper, "that Draco Malfoy seems to be quite well-behaved for now, and we might consider trying to make him more comfortable. After all, there are six of us and we all are much older than he is. Even if he wasn't Lucius's son, there would be some awkwardness purely from the age-gap."

Remus had a point. Draco Malfoy was only seventeen, and the closest to his age was Charlie, who had him beat by nearly ten years.

"Perhaps we could plan a few activities, or bring out the Christmas decorations," said Molly. "I know none of us are in the mood to celebrate, but we have guests and some Christmas cheer might be just what we need. After all, it is the season for miracles."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England, Location Confidential**

**The Burrow**

**December 20****th**

**12:01 am**

He woke at midnight, groggy and disoriented, and he nearly ended the alarm clock charm and simply rolled over, but then he remembered who it was set for, and suddenly he was wide awake and sitting up in bed. He still had the socks and sweater on, but crawling from under the covers was painfully cold. He grabbed the duvet from the top and wrapped it around him to ward off the late night chill. He silently opened the door and peered out. The lights were off. No one was about.

Draco cast a quick locate charm and followed the beacon down the hall and then up a very creaky flight of stairs. After the second step, he cast a muffling spell and continued up the wooden steps. The charm led him to a door on the second floor. He cautiously opened the door and peeked in. He cast a lumos and saw his partner lying in bed, covers pulled up to his waist.

Kingsley looked to be simply sleeping, and he didn't appear to be in any pain. His chest was wrapped heavily though.

Draco closed the door behind him and crossed over to the large armchair by the bed. He sat down and pulled the blanket tighter around him. He'd just wait for a few minutes, to make sure Kingsley was resting easily.

It was hard to keep his head up though, hard to keep his eyes opened. And he was so cold. He pulled up his feet and twisted, using the armrest as a pillow. He was tall, but still young enough to curl up in small spaces. He tucked the blanket tight around him and watched his partner breathe, in and out, without trouble. It was a relief.

Somewhere, in between noting the inhale and release, he closed his eyes.

* * *

Next update fairly soon, as the story has to keep moving. Thanks for reading and if you have a moment, please leave a review!


	3. Fears and Apprehensions

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter…but I would like to.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England, Location Confidential**

**The Burrow**

**December 20****th**

**8:12 am**

"Arthur! He's gone!"

Arthur looked up from his coffee as Molly ran into the kitchen, startling all those gathered.

"What?" he asked.

"The Malfoy boy. He's not in Ginny's room anymore."

Arthur put his cup down. "Where would he go?"

"Do you think he left?" asked Remus.

Charlie shrugged. "Maybe he just went home," he said. He shoveled another bite of eggs into his mouth. This was his second plate of breakfast.

"I'll check," said Tonks, pushing up from the table. "Do we know where he lives?"

Arthur pushed his plate to the side. "We have anti-Apparation wards. He'd need to use the Floo to get home."

"I can check to see if it's been used recently," said Tonks.

"I'll check the grounds," said Remus. "He might have gotten confused or wandered off."

"He was chilled, not delirious," said Arthur. "Wherever he went, he was conscious of his choice."

His words made the table fall silent. Arthur hadn't meant to suggest what they were all thinking; it was simply an observation.

"The Death Eaters have been looking for us," said Molly quietly.

"He can't have gotten far, and he might have left a trace," said Remus. He hurried for the door.

"I'll check upstairs," said Molly. "Perhaps he was simply sleeping walking." She nodded. "Charlie, check the attic. But quiet on the stairs so you don't disturb Kingsley. He needs his rest."

The four dispersed, leaving Arthur alone at the table. He picked up his cup of coffee and wandered down the hall to Ginny's room. He peered in, not expecting to find Draco, but wondering if there was some sort of clue to his disappearance. For a moment, he simply regarded the room and then he turned and headed for the staircase.

Percy's room was on the second floor and he turned the knob and then pushed the door open slowly, trying to avoid any creaks. Kingsley was still on his bed, asleep, and across the room was Draco Malfoy, curled up on the oversized armchair, wrapped in Ginny's quilt. Arthur simply watched for a few moments, making sure they were both resting peacefully. The armchair looked uncomfortable, so Arthur set his coffee down on the dresser and quietly crossed the room.

It was a simple spell to transfigure the chair into a bed, one that he was quite adept at. Molly used to fall asleep in that chair as all six of their boys had been colicky as infants. Ginny had been perfectly healthy. Arthur cast the charm and then quickly slipped his hand under Draco's head so the boy wouldn't wake at the sudden disappearance of the armrest. There was a spare pillow beside the bed, and he careful settled Draco's head on the cushion.

Draco stirred slightly, and then his hand came up and wrapped around Arthur's wrist. It wasn't a tight grip, but Arthur still froze.

"Sodes, commodo."

The words were thick with sleep, the pronunciation slurred, and Draco didn't open his eyes. They were Old Latin, and Arthur had to think back to his tutor when he was young child. The classes had been discontinued early on because the High Language was dying out. He hadn't thought it was spoken anymore.

"Mea culpa, Mater. Sodes…commodo."

Draco stirred again, tossing his head to the side restlessly. A furrow appeared between his brows and his lips pursued.

"Peto somnus," Arthur whispered, hoping he was conjugating correctly. The High Language wasn't perfect Latin; there were just enough changes to be difficult. "Somnus. Vos es inreprehensa."

He didn't know if his words were recognized or if Draco simply fell further into sleep, but the brow smoothed and Draco's hand dropped back. Arthur pulled the quilt down over the sock feet and then turned. He met a concerned dark gaze.

"What did he say?" asked Kingsley in a whisper.

Arthur shook his head. "Just rambling."

"Arthur," said Kingsley, "he's my partner. I can't understand him when he talks in his sleep, not ever, but you can. What did he say?"

Arthur cast one more look on the sleeping boy. "He was asking his mother to stay. He said it was his fault."

"And you? What did you say back?"

"I told him to go to sleep, that he wasn't to blame."

From Kingsley's reaction, a sigh and a nod, he handled that right.

"Did his mother leave?" Arthur found himself asking.

Kingsley paused before answering. "After Lucius' imprisonment, she retired to Serenity Palace."

Arthur had heard of the resort. It masqueraded as a therapeutic rejuvenation center, but it specifically catered to wealthy women who fancied themselves 'distraught'. It was almost fashionable to play the overwrought socialite and take a trip to these centers. Arthur knew what the real problem was. These were women with too much ambition to be content as a trophy wife, but without the courage and drive to pursue an active, fulfilling life.

"And now?" Arthur pressed. Lucius Malfoy had been released from Azkaban over half a year ago.

"She left the country," said Kingsley with a shrug that made him wince. "And told him it was his fault for making her choose between her husband and her son."

"But she didn't choose," said Arthur.

Kingsley snorted. "Yes, she did. She chose herself."

Arthur nodded. "And Lucius?"

Kingsley rolled his eyes and pushed himself up against his pillow. "Can't you guess?"

His tone was disapproving but Arthur wasn't going to be swayed. "We couldn't find him this morning. I didn't think he'd left but my wife lives in this house, Kingsley. I have one son safe here at home. I need to know that it will stay safe."

He saw the Auror soften at his reasoning. Kingsley sighed, but spoke. "He disapproves. He hasn't disowned Draco only because he doesn't have another heir. He's been trying to get his hands on Draco, to change his mind or force him to recant or cast the Imperius if all else fails. There are ways of making an heir compliant. Potions and spells. Blood magic. We, the IRS, have been keeping an eye on Draco. It became a lot easier once he was sworn in as a Detective."

"And what made him take the oath?"

Kingsley smiled. "He was bored. And he's got a knack for solving mysteries. And he'd already been consulting with us. And because we like him. We didn't really let him say no, truth be told, but that's just because he likes being contrary so much he probably would have refused just to prove a point."

Arthur was surprised at the familiarity Kingsley spoke with. And the smile too. But it made him believe that Draco Malfoy's conversion had been a true change, not a way to ingratiate himself with the Order. If it had been a ploy, his actions would have been much more obvious.

"He's a good kid," said Kingsley, obviously trying to get Arthur to warm to him.

Arthur gave a nod and a smile. "He was very polite last night."

Kingsley suddenly looked worried. "He woke-up last night?" he repeated.

"Yes. Woke up for a short time and had some dinner."

"He didn't…he behaved himself?"

Arthur chuckled. "I thought you said he was a good kid."

"He is," Kingsley asserted. "He can just be… a little difficult at times."

"Aren't all teenagers?" Arthur returned. He was quite understanding, after all, he'd raised seven, and two were still in the dreaded stage.

"I wouldn't know," said Kingsley. "I remember being quite well-behaved at that age."

The two men exchanged a look and a grin.

"Can I get you anything, Kingsley? Now that you're awake, would you like any breakfast?"

"I would love some," said the Auror.

"Should I bring up two?" asked Arthur. The boy had slept through the transfiguration, but the smell of breakfast might rouse him.

Kingsley shook his head. "He's tired. He'll wake-up when he's ready."

Arthur nodded. "I'll have Molly send up a tray," he said.

He grabbed his coffee on the way out and nearly ran into four figures in the hall.

Tonks looked disgusted with herself. "I should have guessed," she said, as they all traveled back downstairs. "I'm an Auror myself. You always look for your partner."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England, Location Confidential**

**The Burrow**

**December 20****th**

**8:33 am**

Kingsley turned to his partner once Arthur had left.

"Draco," he said.

At his name, Draco stirred, rolling onto his side, towards Kingsley's voice. Bleary eyes fluttered open then shut again.

Kingsley didn't know how his partner did it. Draco could sleep through anything, in any environment. He'd once slept through a mock battle between Pat and Delia at the office, only stirring and groaning when a wayward spell hit his desk, incinerating his paperwork. But say his name, and it was like tossing flossweed in moonstone. Instant reaction. Of course, when he was really tired, it took his name being called twice.

"Draco," Kingsley repeated.

Draco groaned, but his eyes opened again. This time they focused.

"Kings?" he asked.

"Yeah. How are you feeling?"

Draco rubbed his eyes with one hand. "S'my question, innit?" he asked thickly.

"I have seniority," said Kingsley.

"Mmm," Draco murmured. He pushed himself up in the bed, and then looked down at the mattress in confusion. On most people, that meant a furrowed brow. On Draco, it looked as if the mattress had suddenly insulted him.

"You scared the folks downstairs when they couldn't find you this morning," said Kingsley.

Draco sat up fully and tugged up the quilt to wrap it around his shoulders. He stumbled out of bed to prop himself against Kingsley's mattress. He stared, blinking down at his partner, the consternation on his face increasing.

"Draco, go back to bed," said Kingsley. It was obvious his partner still needed sleep.

"You're okay," said Draco. It was a statement, but he waited for confirmation.

"I'm okay," said Kingsley.

Draco nodded slowly. "We're in the Weasley's house," he said. "I think I had dinner."

Kingsley watched as he raised a hand to rub at his eyes again. His face twisted with sleep-disorientation and a small bit of petulance.

"It's weird," he informed Kingsley. "I don't…," and then he trailed off and his head nodded forward and if he had been able to move, Kingsley would have simply picked him up and put him back into the bed. As it was, he simply pointed.

"Draco. Bed."

Draco turned to look at the bed then swung his head back around.

"You're okay?" It was a real question this time.

"I'm alright, Draco. I'll be fine."

Draco nodded and then nearly fell into the transfigured armchair. He raised his head once to level a stare at Kingsley. "Don't leave me here," he ordered. And then he grabbed the pillow to curl up around it, quilt still wrapped around him. Kingsley heard one more muffled "Weird" and then Draco was asleep again.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England, Location Confidential**

**The Burrow**

**December 20****th**

**11:37 am**

Draco woke up slowly. He was no longer freezing and his brain was finally firing correctly. He opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling, and remembered where he was, and why, and who he was with. He resisted the urge to groan at the circumstances that led him here and instead looked over to the bed where his partner was laying. Kingsley wasn't there.

Many partners in the IRS would panic after an occurrence such as this. Despite being highly intelligent, capable, and independent men and women, the detectives in the IRS seemed unable to handle any form of unexpected separation. Draco had seen Will tear through St. Mungos in nothing more than a flimsy hospital gown and hippogriff slippers in search of Pat. Ellington once barged into a Wizengamot trial to interrogate Buchannan on the condition of his better half Delia. Even shy, self-conscious Penelope had let loose with a string of curse words and nearly attacked an II agent when Gordon Harding was misplaced during an inter-departmental bust.

Draco, however, was not the average Detective-Auror. He didn't need to know where his partner was every single minute of every single day. The unease he was feeling and the twinge in his temples were purely due to the fact that he was residing at the Weasleys, not because his partner wasn't where he had left him.

He quickly rolled out of bed, only pausing to cast a quick freshening charm on himself and a straightening charm on his clothes. It didn't have much effect on the cotton pants and baggy sweater, but at least he felt and smelled cleaner.

This time, when he set out to face a herd of Gryffindors completely unaided, he didn't hesitate at the door.

He encountered the first on the stairs, Charlie. The red-head looked up, startled to see him, but then gave an easy grin. Draco stared back and by the time he managed to force his lips into a semblance of a smile, the red-head had already gone.

A little perturbed at the friendly gesture, Draco continued down the stairs. At the bottom he nearly ran into Remus Lupin who was spelling a large box in front of him.

"Sorry 'bout that," said Lupin. "How are you feeling today?"

Draco blinked, nodded, and managed to form words. "Good," he said.

"You look better today," said Lupin, and then he continued charming the box down the hall.

Draco followed and neatly side-stepped Tonks as she passed through, calling up the stairs for Charlie. Apparently they'd found the lights, whatever that meant.

There was a flurry of activity in the kitchen. Molly Weasley was directing bowls and spoons and various ingredients with the efficacy of the six house elves in the Malfoy kitchen. Draco quickly slipped by, off-put by the bustle and really just wanting to find Kingsley. He ducked into the living room and found his partner.

Draco leveled a glare at his partner for not being where he had left him in the morning. Kingsley was sitting in a plush armchair, wrapped in a colorful afghan with a cup of tea in his hands. His feet were propped up on a stool and he was listening to the radio with Arthur Weasley.

"Morning, Sunshine," Kingsley greeted him with a smile, not at all perturbed at Draco's frown.

"Closer to afternoon," said Arthur. "I trust you slept well, Draco?"

Draco wiped the glare from his face. "Yes, my thanks."

"There's some more tea in the pot, if you would like," said Arthur, gesturing to the low table with a tea platter displayed. "Lunch will only be a few minutes."

Draco glanced over at the clock on the wall. It was nearly noon. Apparently nearly freezing to death sapped a lot of energy. With nothing better to do, he sat across from his partner. He toyed with the notion of pouring himself a cup of tea, if only to keep occupied, and then spotted the newspaper beside the tray.

He picked up the paper, smoothing the folds that had been crumpled through multiple readings, and then surveyed the front article. As expected, the headline proclaimed that the "Potter Radicals" who were planning to seize the government and release the "magic-stealing mudbloods" had been apprehended and thrown out of the IRS. The entire division had been erased and instead the "Magical Preservation Society" would rule in its place.

"The whole Auror department is gone," said Kingsley darkly. "They're not keeping any form of law enforcement; it's just the Magical Preservatives."

"Proper recognition should be given to magical preservatives," said Draco, turning over to the crossword. "Without them, we would have no blood-orange marmalade."

Kingsley smiled, used to Draco's flippancy when it came to serious matters. Arthur Weasley chuckled, which had Draco glancing up in surprise. He returned to the puzzle, not attempting to fill the crossword out, but reading through the clues. Ellington was horrible with anything sports related, but he was able to fill in even the most obscure historic reference.

"How much do you want to bet he's stuck on 33 down?" Kingsley asked, seeing where his attention was.

Draco folded the paper over and put it down. He'd seen Ellington get hit before Apparating away with Kingsley. He looked over to Arthur Weasley.

"Has there been any detailed news about the attack?" he asked.

Arthur shook his head. "No fatalities have been reported, although a few IRS Aurors were apprehended. No names yet."

"They're smart," said Kingsley. "They can get off with a lie or two. They won't be sent to Azkaban at any rate. That's being saved for vocal Dumbledore and Potter supporters, not Aurors with morals."

Draco shook his head. "Yaxley has a vendetta against Buchannan. If he-,"

"He wasn't," said Kingsley.

"He was hit," said Draco. "Ellington as well and Penelope was down. The entire wing was sabotaged."

"I know," said Kingsley.

"They'd taken out the Floo and they were starting to set-up anti-Apparation wards in the middle of the battle."

"I know," said Kingsley.

"They'd taken the Portkeys, Merlin knows how they got to those. They probably hit the beta-site as well, which is why I didn't try Apparating there. But if the others-,"

"Hey, Sunshine," Kingsley interrupted him. "If you figured it out, they probably did too. Who's the rookie on the team?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Please. I've been dueling since I was ten."

"Yeah, and I've been an Auror since you were seven. Relax. Don't think the Ministry's going to be able to hold onto any of our detectives. If anything, they'd drive the Death Eaters nuts within the first hour. It's a miracle you're still coherent."

"I won't argue with that," said Draco. He set the paper back on the table, not ready to see what else had gone wrong since the elimination of the Auror department. He made a face at the radio. "Can't you find anything better to listen to?"

It was, of course, the Potterwatch station.

"Better get used to it," said Kingsley complacently. "You're one of us now."

There was a sobering thought. One of them.

It was impossible to recover from an entire childhood of bigotry in the space of two years, and the gut reaction to those words was still strong: nausea and distaste.

It wasn't just the 'Pureblood' rhetoric that created such a divide. It wasn't simply the fact that the Weasley's interacted with Muggle-borns that made them so detestable, at least in childhood. The Weasley's embodied concepts like loyalty and bravery and selflessness. Draco had grown up believing the exact opposites were virtues. Monetary gain, prestige and power were the pillars of the Malfoy family. All else was folly. Utter stupidity. Contrary to survival. Those who gave alms and charity, those who cared for the ill and injured, those who strove for peace and understanding were simply dreamers who were prolonging the disease of the weak. If they continued on their road of protecting the weak, then let them bow with the weak. The strong would rule. It could be no other way, should be no other way.

Assisting the Aurors, and eventually joining them, had been quite the culture shock, one to which he was slowly adapting. While he could see the change in himself, and accepted the change, he didn't think he was really ready to be 'one of the them'.

So Draco turned up his nose and sniffed. "Just because I am temporarily clothed in the manner of your usual acquaintances does not mean you should consider me so affiliated."

And Kingsley laughed, as expected, and then winced in discomfort, which Draco hadn't purposefully attempted to cause.

Arthur Weasley cleared his throat. "You may have to wear some of our boys spare clothes for a while longer," he said, clearly apologetic.

Draco raised an eyebrow. Kingsley spoke up.

"Death Eaters burned your flat down."

It took a minute to sink in. Draco blinked. "I see," he said.

There was a pause as Kingsley and Arthur waited for his reaction. If it were simply Kingsley in the room, Draco might swear and then Apparate over to assess the damage himself, all while spouting various retributions and curses, but it wasn't simply Kingsley, and Draco found himself decidedly uncomfortable, and he responded the way he always did.

"I suppose it's a natural reaction for them," he said, with a shrug. "They appear to have an affinity for flames. The whole 'hell' motif they strive to emulate. It's overdone, of course. Honestly, I don't think the Dark Lord could really pull off a 'Supreme Evil' character. He's too concerned with power. Any true figure of evil would simply wish for anarchy, not a dictatorship. Although, considering the culture of the ancient-,"

"A few things were saved," Kingsley interrupted him.

Draco blinked again, and then leveled a stare at Kingsley.

"Something you want to tell me, _partner_?" he asked.

If he emphasized the last, it was only because Kingsley had stressed to him that partnership entailed absolute honesty. Draco was beginning to think that his partner was conning him. Even if it was for his own good, Draco didn't appreciate it. For Merlin's sake, he was not even two years into this 'partner' thing, and had only officially been partnered with Kingsley since the summer. Half a year. Everything he knew about relying on another person had to be spelled out by Kingsley and Draco had taken the first lesson to heart. He had _trusted_ Kingsley, just like Kingsley told him.

"I had to consider the possibility that I would be targeted and killed," said Kingsley in the same direct manner he had explained the rules of a partnership to Draco. "I didn't like the idea of you being alone, not with…," and here Kingsley paused and Draco knew what he meant. Not with his father hunting him down to return him to the family fold.

Kingsley pushed on. "Due to current circumstances, I didn't like the idea of you being unprotected, with no one to turn to."

"Because a squad of Investigation and Retrieval Aurors count as no one," said Draco.

"The IRS has no power anymore," said Kingsley. "The only ones with a coherent battle plan is the Order, and I wanted to know you would be looked after. I gave Dumbledore the address of your flat."

Draco expected that Lucius would sell Draco if the price was high enough, say for his own life. He expected that Narcissa would leave when it suited her. He didn't expect Kingsley to give him up so easily though.

"You told?" he asked. "You swore-," He felt a little numb. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair.

"I did swear," said Kingsley. "But first and foremost, as your partner, I swore to look out for you. Your safety and well-being is first, always will be. Even if you don't like it."

Draco didn't like it. Hated it in fact. The idea that Dumbledore or the Order could have accessed his flat, his home, anytime they would have liked…

"It was only for an emergency," said Kingsley. "Your wards sent an alarm early this morning, before even I got up. Dumbledore got some of your stuff and brought them over this morning, not a lot, but the important things."

"They're in Ginny's room, the room you first slept in," said Arthur. "You can see, if you'd like."

Draco would like, and it gave him the opportunity to leave. He was better thinking through his feelings when he was alone.

Sometimes he thought Kingsley might be a bit more Slytherin than his partner would like to admit. While that thought gave him some satisfaction, it also meant he would have to rethink his association with Kingsley. He didn't know if he could trust him so much anymore. Not if it meant these sorts of surprises.

Draco closed the door to the Weasley girl's room and walked over to the bags on the bed. The first was his school bag, not that anyone would know what was inside. It was simply an official looking briefcase. He took it on stakeouts with him and only Kingsley knew he was studying for his NEWTs independently, not catching up on paperwork. The other bag was a large broomkit bag. The kit had been emptied and clothes were folded inside. Not a lot of clothes, but some staple items. His Auror's certificate and his commendation from the Minister were placed careful inside. His dress uniform was there as well and a few things off of his desk it looked like. His dueling trophy and gold quill set. His account book from Gringotts. And there, at the bottom…

His breath caught as he reached for the picture frame. He kept this buried in his sock drawer, only pulling it out on occasion. Draco turned the frame over and stared at the picture inside. It was a rare, unprofessional photo of his family, no doubt snapped by some newspaper reporter whose camera was then confiscated because Lucius didn't like to have candid photos taken. He didn't like not being able to control his image. But this picture was harmless, and Lucius had let Draco take it with him to Hogwarts.

It was after one of Draco's dueling tournaments. He'd taken first place in his age group and then placed third among the final, competing against teenagers five years older than him. The picture was taking while leaving the winner's box. Draco was carrying a large trophy and was wearing a brightly colored sash. Narcissa was carrying his other trophy and Lucius was smiling, reaching out to clap an approving hand on his shoulder. The picture captured that movement over and over, and Narcissa smiled indulgently down at the little Draco who was jumping with two feet off the stand.

Draco sat on the bed and held the photo in his hands. He traced a fingertip over the protective glass covering. Some days, his chest ached oddly at the picture, hence its place in his sock drawer. Other days, it made him want to smile.

"I didn't mean to overstep any boundaries," said Kingsley from the doorway.

Draco didn't start, although he was surprised he didn't hear the door open. He gave a wry grimace but remained silent.

"If I ever break your trust," said Kingsley, "it's only because I'm looking out for you."

"And that's something I'm just supposed to accept?" Draco asked.

"It's something partners do," said Kingsley. "It doesn't always work out for the best, but it's always with the best intentions."

"There's a saying about best intentions," Draco reminded him.

"I know," said Kingsley. "But this wasn't just with the best of intentions. I weighed the pros and the cons and I decided I would rather have you angry with me then have you with no place to go."

"So you assumed you knew what was best for me," said Draco.

Kingsley gestured to the photo in his hands. "I think I proved that I did."

Draco found he couldn't argue that point.

"You could discuss it with me next time," he said.

"Would you have let me give Dumbledore your address?" Kingsley countered.

Draco wanted to say yes, just to prove his point, but it would be an obvious lie.

"Ask me next time," he finally capitulated. "I'll try to listen."

Kingsley nodded. "I can do that."

Draco slipped the photograph back in the bag.

"Lunch is ready," said Kingsley.

Draco followed him out to the dining room.

"You know, Kingsley," he said. "You really shouldn't be walking around."

"I'm recovering well."

"Your upright position could be interfering with your circulation," said Draco. "You should be seated, if not lying in a prone position."

"I said I'm fine."

"I think this is one of the cases where I have your best interests in mind," said Draco.

"Don't count on it, Sunshine."

"If I were to immobilize you, right now, I assure you, the pros far outweigh the cons."

"Draco," Kingsley warned.

"In fact, you could say, I'd rather have you angry at me, then have you undergo surgery for the damage you're causing right now."

Kingsley stopped and stared. "You wouldn't dare."

Draco raised his eyebrow. "Care to try me? Or will you go back to your chair like a good patient?"

Kingsley returned to his chair, obviously not wanting to test his partner. Draco took pity on him and took lunch with him in the living room. It was not because the tableful of Gryffindors intimidated him.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

This one's a bit late due to relatives visiting and all that holiday jazz. I'll generally try to update once a day until it's finished, but there might be a few gaps. Please review!


	4. Christmas Tree Hunting

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter…sigh.

Note: Draco is a recovering cigarette addict. Cigarettes are bad for you. Do not smoke just because Draco smokes in this chapter. It is not cool. Being healthy is cool.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England, Location Confidential**

**The Burrow**

**December 21****st**

**8:30 am**

"Draco."

His name filtered through layers of sleep. His mind groggily turned over, thoughts and feelings beginning to spark into awareness. He was tired. It felt early. He wanted to go back to bed. Still, it was Kingsley's voice, and it might be something important, so he rolled towards the sound and opened his eyes.

"What?" he groaned.

"Time to get up. You've got places to be."

Draco blinked. Places to be?

"You're going to pick out the Christmas tree," said Kingsley with a grin. "Cut it down and everything."

"Why, in the name of Merlin, would I want to do that?" Draco asked.

Kingsley just grinned wider. "Because it's fun. And because I can't go. Molly won't let me leave the house for another day, even though I am completely recovered. See." He demonstrated the full range of motion of his arms by pin-wheeling rapidly. There was no grimace at the pull of his chest.

"Congratulations," said Draco. "And please inform our hosts that I will not be attending this outing."

"Nope," said Kingsley. He was in an insufferably cheery mood this morning. "You need to get out of this place."

"No argument here," Draco muttered.

Kingsley ignored him. "Get some exercise and fresh air. What every growing boy needs."

"I'm not a boy."

"And we can't have you sitting all gloom and doom in here. It's Christmas time. We need to celebrate."

"I was under the impression that the Order residents of this…abode weren't even going to celebrate this year until our arrival. I see no need in joining an obviously staged celebration."

"It's not staged, Draco," said Kingsley, growing serious. He knelt by the bed, voice softer. "Arthur and Molly will be unable to celebrate with their children this year, due to the war. Bill and Fleur might be able to make it, but Fred and George are stuck in their shop and Ginny can't leave Hogwarts for fear of being picked up once off school grounds. They don't even know where Ron is right now, for all they know he could be imprisoned or dead or worse, and the reason they didn't want to celebrate is to avoid the painful reminder that they are helpless to care for their children.

"And now, they are doing their best to make us feel comfortable and welcomed, and I'm going to do my damndest to return the favor. You can sit here and sulk like teenager if you want. You're an adult, and a Detective-Auror in your own right. I'm not going to tell you what to do."

And then Kingsley stood.

"Breakfast is ready, so you have to come out anyway. I'll let you inform our hosts of your decision."

His partner left, closing the door gently behind him. It was really unfair that his partner could make him feel like such an arse so easily.

"Damn it," Draco swore, staring up at the ceiling. But a minute later, and he pushed himself off the bed and threw on some of his salvaged clothes. He fixed a neutral expression on his face and joined the Order members in the dining room.

"Draco," Arthur Weasley greeted him with a nod.

"Hey, cuz!" Tonks said, with much more enthusiasm. "Ready to hunt us a Christmas tree?"

"I was unaware that tracking and capturing were requirements of choosing a tree," said Draco. He slipped into the seat next to Kingsley who passed him a plate of eggs. All of the dishes were laid out on the table, buffet style.

"It is if you want to find the right one," said Tonks.

"Then by all means, I shall be delighted to join the tree-retrieval party," Draco lied smoothly.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and, contrary to his usual habits, drank it black. He thought he might need all the fortification possible for spending a morning tramping through the snow.

After a simple but filling breakfast, the Christmas tree party, consisting of Arthur, Charlie, Tonks, Remus and himself, retired to their rooms to pull on thick layers and heavy boots. Before the IRS, Draco had owned no clothes suitable for such an excursion as Malfoys simply didn't play outside in the snow, but winter-gear was necessary for the Aurors.

His trousers were thick and spelled waterproof. His boots were fur-lined and similarly impervious. His gloves were also lined, and the hat was a simple black knit affair, with the Auror emblem on the front. His long red-leather coat, with the double row of gold buttons down the front, had specific drying and heating charms stitched throughout. In no time, he was standing by the door while Mrs. Weasley gathered up extra winter accessories and handed them out to the others.

"Remus, those gloves simply won't do. Your fingers will freeze in a minute. Here, take these. They're Bill's old ones and should fit you fine. Tonks, where is your hat? No matter, here's one for you. Pull it down over your ears. There, is everyone – Charlie, zip all the way up, and have a warming stone for your pockets."

And then she turned to him.

"You look very smart in that coat, dear, but are you sure it's going to be warm enough?"

"They're charmed, Molly," said Tonks, jumping to the coat's defense. "And designed for winter use. He'll be fine."

Tonks wasn't wearing her Auror's coat, Draco noticed. Instead, it was a puffy purple monstrosity. The hat Molly had given her clashed horribly with the coat and her solid red hair. The hat was a knitted creation of blue and yellow with a green tassel. In fact, all of the accessories from the Weasley stock appeared to be brightly colored and decidedly home-made in appearance.

"Well, if you say so," Molly relented. "But here, you need a scarf."

And then she was draping a truly terrible scarf of orange and blue around his neck. Draco managed a nod.

"My thanks."

"Alright. You look all set. Arthur? How about you?"

"Roasting in this get-up," said Arthur. "We'll be back in an hour or so."

Only an hour? Please let it be only an hour.

Molly laughed. "The last time you were out there 'til dinner. But don't keep Draco out much past lunch. He's already been frozen once this week."

Draco was caught between terror at the fact that he could be out all day in the snow and feeling strangely touched that his well-being was being monitored so carefully by someone who had no obligation to look after him.

"Will do," Arthur promised, and then he leaned down and Draco looked away as they kissed. One simply did not see this display of affection between a married couple in high society. It was more common to see such displays from lovers and adulterers.

The five trooped out. The sun was hidden behind a thin layer of cloud, which made the snow bearable to look at. Instead of striking out towards the empty field behind the house, and the trees beyond that, Arthur led them to a shed to the side of the house.

"I have an arrangement with the man across town," he explained, as he unlocked the door. "We're allowed to cut down a tree on his property for one of Molly's birthday cakes. He already got the cake last month, so we've free range. It's a bit of a trip though, so we'll have to fly. Any objections?"

Any objections? Merlin, Draco had missed flying. There simply hadn't been the time for it. He'd told Dumbledore during the Hogwarts fiasco that he had missed nothing about the school, but the truth of the matter was he desperately wanted to play Quidditch again, or at least have the ability to jump on his broom whenever he wished.

So he waited with concealed impatience as Mr. Weasley opened the door and took down the brooms. They were the saddest, sorriest excuse for flying brooms that Draco had ever seen, actually that was untrue because he had seen Ron flying on one, but at that moment, Draco would have flown on a homemade mop.

He was handed an old Comet, the bristles sparse at the end and the broomstick notched and chipped, but in his hand it thrummed with life. The Comets weren't known for their speed, but they had the best turns and rolls of any model.

"Alright," said Arthur, locking the shed door once more. "We're going to have to fly low over the field, and once we hit the woods, we'll make a large circle towards the northeast. There shouldn't be any Muggles about, and the nearest home is quite a hike away, but if you see any, signal the others and we'll try to leave without any need for memory charms."

Draco nodded and swung his leg over the old broom. He waited for the others to clear out before following after them, subconsciously bringing up the rear, like an escort patrol he sometimes ran for the Head Hunters. The broom was a little shaky, not in any danger of giving out like the one Charlie was riding, but just enough to hinder any of the more complex acrobatics he sometimes flew on his Firebolt. It also bucked when he guided it left.

No matter. Draco was an experienced flyer and could compensate for the touchy broom. He sped up to keep up with the rest of the group and then swooped as low to the snow-covered ground as possible. He reached out a gloved hand to brush the snow as sped past, kicking up some flakes into his eyes. He didn't have his flying goggles with him, and the cold air streaming past and the spray from the snow made his eyes water.

Motion ahead and to his right caught his attention. Tonks lowered her broom to brush the snow with her hand as well, but on a second glance, she was actually scooping up the snow. She caught his gaze, grinned wickedly, and held up a lopsided snowball.

Draco thought for one moment she planned to throw it at him, but then she raised her finger to her lips and dropped back a little behind Charlie. Her attack was heralded by a rebel yell, and she put on a burst of speed, overtook the dragon-trainer, and lobbed the snowball right in his face.

Charlie yelped, rolled, and then straightened his stick, wiping snow from his eyes. Tonks took the opportunity to form another snowball, so by the time Charlie dove for his own ammunition, she was able to fire again.

An impromptu snow battle broke out, Remus joining in as well. It was odd, to say the least. Draco had never before seen such childish antics from a former professor. And Tonks and Charlie were full adults as well. Even Arthur Weasley threw a snowball at his son, and then immediately looked the other way and assumed an innocent expression.

The battle ended after a matter of minutes when the flyers reached the edge of the woods. Arthur took the lead once more, weaving in and out of the trees with ease. Draco dropped back to the rear once more.

They made a large loop through the trees, crossing a small, frozen creek, and then Arthur pulled up and dismounted. Draco followed suit and landed in nearly knee-high snow. Absolutely distasteful.

He shouldered his broom and followed the others.

He wasn't used to walking through so much snow. It would have been difficult to keep up with the others, as they were easily stepping through the drifts, but their attention was focused on the trees before them. He hefted the broom once more and grimly kept place.

The others chatted amongst themselves, occasionally pointing to a tree or running up ahead or to the side. As far as Draco could tell, they weren't walking in any specific direction but meandering in circles and figure eights. A shriek had Draco instinctively reaching for his wand, but it was just Tonks who had a branch full of snow dumped on her head. Charlie had pulled on the limb just as Tonks walked under.

Draco sighed and kicked a bit of snow as he trudged along. He didn't look at the trees, because they all appeared the same to him. He did, however, keep an eye out for the group. He didn't like the way some would occasionally disappear behind a tree or fallen log or snowdrift. There really wasn't any cause to worry, but all the same, he made sure each one re-appeared before moving on.

"Hey, Malfoy," Tonks called. "Seen a good tree yet?"

Draco paused and looked to at his cousin. She was grinning widely, like she actually enjoyed this sort of excursion.

"Forgive me for not contributing, but I am not well versed in what characteristics of a tree make it 'good'," he responded, somewhat snidely.

"Aw, lighten up, cuz. This is fun." She spread her arms wide and gestured around them.

Draco chose not to comment, instead he started forward again, walking past her. Charlie had stopped to laugh at them and Draco ignored him. Remus had paused as well, because he was incapable of not looking at Tonks, which meant Draco ended up trudging along with Arthur Weasley. He tried to keep his distance, but while the woods were not thick, the placing of the trees meant it was hard to stay more than an arm's length away.

Arthur Weasley wasn't one to make idle conversation, for which Draco was grateful. What, really, was there to talk about?

"Hey, what about this one?"

The call came from Tonks. Draco stopped and turned. The Auror was standing by a rather basic looking pine tree. Draco rolled his eyes, but trudged back, trying to walk in his footprints to rejoin the group.

"Think it might be a bit too tall," said Charlie, peering up at the top branches.

"We can raise the ceiling, can't we?" Tonks asked. She and Remus took a trip around the tree, Draco didn't know why. As far as he knew, trees didn't have a front or a back.

"Branches look fine back here," said Remus. "Could we raise the ceiling, Arthur?"

"We've done it before," said Arthur mildly. That seemed to describe the Weasley father. Mild. Of course, Draco had seen him fist-fighting with Lucius in a bookstore. It was actually good to know. If there was one thing Draco couldn't stand, it was perpetually calm, complacent people.

"What do you think?"

It took a moment for Draco to realize that Arthur Weasley was speaking to him.

"What do I-?" he repeated. And there it was again, that expectant pause, the tension. He was going to start babbling again. He curled his hand into a fist, wishing desperately for a cigarette even though he'd promised Kingsley he was truly finished this time.

They were still waiting. He took a breath. A simple answer, that was all they needed.

"I really have no basis of comparison," he said and offered a shrug.

There, no problem. Short, concise. But they were still looking at him, heads tilted to the side. Arthur Weasley's gaze was the worst, steady and mild blue eyes. The discomfort grew; he spoke again.

"I've always believed one tree is as good as the other. This appears to be an adequate specimen of…pine." Oh Merlin, he sounded like an idiot, didn't he? He tried to stop his mouth from moving, but they would look away. "And, it seems quite healthy. That is, it is living in this wood, and appears to be flourishing. And we have determined that it does have branches, in the back as well as the front, if trees have such directions on their trunks, so I'm sure it will do fine, assuming the ceiling can be raised to accommodate its quite impressive height."

Tonks walked over to sling her arm around his shoulder, and while the contact was unnerving, at least it meant he was finally able to shut-up.

"Draco, is this your first Christmas tree?" she asked.

"I have never before chosen a tree from its native environs," Draco hedged.

He was unable to meet her inquiring gaze, so she stepped into his line of sight.

"What about decorating a Christmas tree. You've done that before," she challenged.

"Merlin, no," said Draco, repulsed at the very idea. Spending time by hanging trinkets on an ill-fated plant? No thank you.

Apparently his view was unique and caused a new bout of staring and his mouth started moving again.

"Our trees were pre-decorated before being sent to the house. Sometimes the house elves had to rearrange a bow or two, but largely designed by specialists to go with the décor in the various rooms. Narcissa was very particular when it came to colors and she could drive a seasoned sales representative to tears in a matter of minutes. All very impressive, really."

Dear Merlin, he just needed one cigarette, and he would quit for good.

"What about waking up early and opening presents under a tree?" Tonks asked.

"Lucius and Narcissa preferred to spend the holiday abroad," said Draco. "Italy, Southern France, Spain, the Caribbean. I begged off the year they went to the West Indies. For some reason, they detest White Christmases, and I wanted to have snow for a change. Otherwise, I opened presents in the hotel suite, usually when my breakfast was catered in."

"_Your_ breakfast?" Tonks questioned.

Damn it. Would her curiosity ever end?

"Lucius and Narcissa were usually out late with Christmas Eve concerts and benefits and other such soirees. They preferred to sleep late. I was a child and didn't want to wait." Draco gave another shrug, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and – Christmas was a time for miracles – found a loose cigarette.

Thank Merlin. Or St. Nick.

"Excuse me," said Draco. He awkwardly stepped away through the snow, stuck the cigarette in his mouth, and lit it with a quick charm.

He had truly quit. An entire month he had been without a cigarette, and honestly, he'd felt great that month. And he'd finally gone to the Healer's without having to get his lungs scrubbed of corrosive tar. Now, with the toxins hitting his system, he felt slightly ill, but proceeded to draw in the smoke. It only took a few moments for the familiar ease to set in.

"You smoke?" asked Charlie, looking somewhat surprised.

Of course he sounded surprised. Cigarettes weren't popular yet in wizarding society. Traditionalists used pipes and cigars, both of which were magically filtered. The only way not to die of smoking cigarettes in the wizarding world were through regular lung scrubbings which were numbered among the top five most painful, legal charms to suffer.

Draco shrugged again. "I quit," he said.

"Well, quit again," said Tonks, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "And come on. If this is your first Christmas tree, we're going to find the best tree ever."

Draco sighed, the smoke curling out from his mouth and nose in a rush. He'd thought, with the smoking, that he finally might be able to gain some distance and quiet, but the Gryffindors were a stubborn bunch. He obediently vanished the cigarette and then Tonks grabbed his arm and they were off again.

"The most important thing about a Christmas tree," she explained, "is to make sure it has no bald patches."

"No bald patches," Draco repeated.

"And the needles have to be green, not brown. Otherwise, it means the tree is unhealthy, and the needles will all fall off, which is ugly and a pain to clean up."

"And that's it?" Draco asked.

"Fat trees are better," Charlie chimed in. "Not skinny ones."

"I believe that's a matter of personal preference," said Remus.

"Skinny trees look unhappy," said Charlie.

Tonks laughed.

"The third feature to look for is a straight trunk," said Arthur from behind. "Otherwise the tree stand won't be able to support it."

The others nodded in agreement.

"Other than that, it's just basic height restrictions," Tonks continued. "And we can raise the ceiling as high as we want."

"Now, let's not get carried away," said Arthur. "We still have to fly it back, so it can't be too extraordinary."

"So why not the first tree?" Draco asked.

Tonks shook her head. "Wasn't the one."

"Why not?"

"You can feel it," said Tonks.

"Feel what?"

"When the tree is the right one. That tree back there was good, but it didn't say 'Christmas'."

"Because trees can't talk," said Draco, wondering if she had been taught this as a child.

Tonks gave a mournful sigh. "Draco," she said, "Christmas is all about a feeling. When it feels right, you'll know. It'll be like the tree is telling you 'I'm the one'."

"Because a tree would like to be chopped down," said Draco. "And advertise this fact."

Charlie laughed. Remus shook his head at Tonks who looked quite exasperated. Draco thought he might be getting a headache and he was sure it was from these baffling Weasley, not the sudden influx of poisons from the cigarette.

"Haven't you heard, Malfoy?" Charlie asked. "It is every tree's desire to become a Christmas tree."

Draco stared at him. "That is ridiculous."

"It's the truth," said Charlie.

"True as Santa Claus," Draco muttered.

"I don't think you're going to win this one," said Arthur in commiseration. "Even if I did tell Charlie that just because he cried when the trees died after Christmas."

Draco smiled, pleased that someone else was finally owning up to the folly of the season.

"However," said Arthur, "sometimes a tree really does just feel right."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said. He could play along then. He pointed to the tree in front of him. "That tree is telling me its 'the one'."

In truth, the tree said nothing. It was simply a tree, a decidedly average pine tree that had yet to reach a towering growth size. It was not particularly fat or thin, but it looked appropriately branched from this side and it was decidedly green underneath the snow.

"Huh," said Tonks, stopping beside Draco. "It does look nice, doesn't it?"

Charlie ran around it, then took a slower surveillance accompanied by Remus.

"It's quite the tree," he said.

Draco crossed his arms and stared the tree down, daring it to give him any sort of feeling. He smiled when there was none.

"We shouldn't have to raise the ceiling too much," said Charlie to Arthur.

"Might not have to at all," said his father. He, too, took a lap around, and Tonks followed. Draco stayed where he was.

"I think it's the one," said Tonks. She leaned close the branches and inhaled. "Smells like Christmas."

"It smells like pine which is used in Christmas fragrances," Draco countered.

"Knock it all you want, cuz," said Tonks, "but you cannot deny that you found the Christmas tree."

"I found a tree," said Draco. "Hardly exceptional in a forest."

Tonks shook her head. "Nope, you found _the_ Christmas tree. Can't you feel it? It's the one."

Dear Merlin, he was going to curse Kingsley for making him attend this outing.

"Nymphadora," said Arthur, "stop teasing your cousin."

"Don't call me Nymphadora," said Tonks crossly.

Draco raised his eyebrow. So she didn't like her name, did she?

Tonks caught his expression and pointed a warning finger at him. "Don't even think about, Malfoy."

"The thought never crossed my mind," Draco lied.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England, Location Confidential**

**The Burrow**

**December 21****st**

**11:41 am**

"Nice looking tree," Kingsley said, watching Tonks and Remus levitate into the living room. His book lay discarded on the side table because seeing the two struggle to keep the tree afloat was infinitely more entertaining.

"Alright," said Arthur, crouched by the tree stand in the corner. "Let's try guiding it over. Nice and slow."

The tree tipped alarmingly and Draco, who had taken up a station right beside Kingsley's armchair, took half a step forward, his hand tightening tellingly on his wand.

Kingsley flicked Draco's arm, because his partner didn't need to stand guard over him. Draco simply took a step to the left, moving out of reached, a raised his wand another fraction of an inch.

The tree teetered, shook, and finally set into place and the tree stand clamped around the base. The levitation spells were hesitant dropped and every one, besides his partner, took a step back just in case. The tree stayed perfectly straight. Arthur tugged at a few of the branches, but it was sturdily held.

"Fantastic job," Kingsley applauded.

Tonks turned. "Draco found the tree, you know," she said. She sent a glance to Draco, as if looking for a reaction. Draco simply smirked.

"Nymphadora gave the extremely helpful tips," he said.

"That's it," said Tonks, pulling her wand. "You better start running, dear cousin, because I-,"

"Nymphadora!" Mrs. Weasley scolded from the doorway. "There will be no dueling in this house."

"Then we can take it outside," Tonks growled. Her hair turned black.

Draco turned to Mrs. Weasley with large silver eyes, the same eyes Kingsley had seen Captain Buchannan cave under.

"I'm afraid it's my fault Cousin Nymphadora is so upset," he said. "I'm afraid I didn't realize that calling her 'Nymphadora' was so distasteful to her. I really don't understand, as Nymphadora is such a beautiful name."

Mrs. Weasley threw up her hands. "You're as bad as the twins. Can I never have a peaceful house for the holidays?"

And she left, no doubt to pull a pie or pudding from the oven.

Tonks smiled evilly in Draco's direction, obviously intent on gaining retribution from the obvious teasing, but Draco simply claimed the seat next to Kingsley and ignored her. Tonks left to go help Remus bring the lights in.

"Sounds like you had fun," said Kingsley.

Draco gave a non-committal grunt, something he had picked up from his partner. Kingsley waited, because when Draco stooped to inarticulate noises, it meant he really had something to say.

"I was looking forward to a lack of Christmas this year," Draco said, keeping his voice low. "I was going to attend the office party Christmas Eve, and then stay at home. I was having a very nice dinner catered in, I had a new book to read and the new album of Pearson James to enjoy with a glass of brandy. I was even considering attending the Children's Hospital benefit the next day."

"You weren't going to," said Kingsley.

"I had the tickets and everything," Draco countered. "I was planning on asking Felicia if she wanted to go with me."

"Felicia, huh?" asked Kingsley, raising his eyebrows. Draco drew himself up in his chair.

"Felicia is very socially aware and I'm sure she would have enjoyed it very much."

"She probably would have," said Kingsley. "But ever since you informed me of your pathetic, and rather Scrooge-like holiday plans, I was planning on grabbing you after the party and taking you to my mother's for Christmas."

Draco blinked. "Your mother's?" he asked.

"Yes. We have a very large family Christmas each year. You would have loved it. Actually, you probably would have been completely overwhelmed and smothered with attention and teased mercilessly. But you would have had fun."

"At your family's Christmas party," Draco clarified.

"Yes, at my family's Christmas party," said Kingsley. "Do you think I would have left you mope on Christmas like you did last year."

"I didn't mope last year."

"You spent the entire day at your office."

"I had a business to run then!"

"Moping," said Kingsley.

"I'm not even going to reply to that," said Draco.

Kingsley grinned. "Because I'm right."

Draco ignored, and continued to ignore him all throughout lunch. Kingsley wasn't worried. For as much as his partner could babble until Squibs cast spells, he usually didn't monopolize conversations. In fact, he usually only cast out the occasional snide comment. He was content to let others direct the subject.

After lunch Arthur and Remus managed to untangle the string of lights, or rather, they spat out detangling spells and straightening charms before asking Molly to sort out the mess for them. The Weasley mother had the lights straight with one simply flick of her wand.

Draco, Kingsley noticed, was paying equal parts attention to the game of chess between them and the trimming of the tree. He looked equally disinterested in both, but the fact that he was watching meant he was intrigued. Kingsley wondered if he had known before this day what went into creating a Christmas tree.

Arthur and Charlie brought up box after box of Christmas ornaments. Before long, walking through the room became extremely difficult and rather hazardous. Draco had to pull his feet up to allow the others to step by.

"Come and hang some ornaments, Draco," said Tonks. She was sitting on the floor, nearly covered in old newspapers that had been wrapped around the ornaments for cushioning. She held out a twinkly star ornament invitingly.

Kingsley caught the look of askance on Draco's face.

"It won't bite," he told his partner.

Draco sighed, picked his way over to his cousin and then the tree, and hung the star in the middle of the tree. He returned to his chair.

"Was that so bad?" Tonks asked. She held out another one for him. A penguin in a Santa hat.

"Are you not capable of standing?" Draco asked.

"I'm pregnant," said Tonks.

Kingsley nearly dropped the rook he had just picked up to move. Arthur's head whipped around. Charlie tripped over a box, tried to catch himself on another, and toppled over to the floor with a crash. Remus sat heavily on the floor, staring blankly at Tonks. Draco jumped to his feet and had his wand leveled at Remus in an instant.

"My cousin carries your child and you do not honor her with marriage?" he spat.

"Oh, crap," said Tonks, slapping her hand to her forehead.

"What's going on in here?" Molly demanded from the doorway.

Kingsley got up and pushed Draco's wand down.

"Nothing, Molly. Tonks was just explaining to Draco why she and Remus have decided not to get married even though she's pregnant."

Molly looked to Tonks, then to the white-faced Remus. "I'll get tea and brandy," she said, and turned back around. Kingsley heard her mutter "Never a quiet holiday".

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

So, maybe an update once every two days, just so I have a chance to edit....which I didn't do on this chapter. So, this story will be over in a week and I'll move back to The Decoding. Please leave a review, and if nothing else, have a Happy New Year.


	5. Questions and Answers

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Quick Note: Wow. Sorry about the delay. You have no idea how RL interrupted this week. Crazy. Anyway, I'm back again, and really sorry about the wait. Luckily, there's not too much left to write…alright, so the main adventure of the story is still coming around, but it's concise and I should have the story completed by the end of this week…I really, really hope so. If not this week, beginning of next. And then it's back to the Decoding. Apparently I have no time management skills.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England, Location Confidential**

**The Burrow**

**December 22****nd**

**9:43 am**

Tonks paused in the doorway to the dining room. She had already eaten breakfast, quite a while ago in fact. There was something about being pregnant that had her retiring to bed far too early in the evening, and waking up even earlier in the morning.

Only Draco was at the table now. As a teen, he was taking advantage of his current unemployment and sleeping in. Kingsley had informed them that Draco detested mornings and that if there was nothing for him to be doing, it was best to 'let the sleeping dragon lie'. Of course, right after Kingsley had told them that, he had gone to wake up Draco to cut down a Christmas tree.

Draco's plate was nearly empty and he was reading the paper as he took his last bite of toast. Almost immediately Molly was there to scoop away his dishes. Tonks watched Draco half-rise, reaching out, protesting that he could clear his own dishes, even wash them, but Molly had none of it. Instead she returned with the coffee pot and refreshed his mug. Draco thanked her, added cream and sugar, and picked up the paper again.

It was time to make her move. Tonks walked in and took the seat across from him. Molly whisked to her side.

"Nymphadora, are you hungry again? Would you like some tea, perhaps to settle your stomach? I've got some biscuits I could-,"

"Do you have any hot chocolate?" Tonks asked. It was a preventative measure, to ask for something so that Molly didn't keep pressing items of food. It was also because Molly made the best hot chocolate this side of the channel.

"Of course."

Draco didn't put the paper down. Tonks wondered if he was avoiding her, or if he was really that interested in the finance section. Both seemed possible.

In a matter of minutes, Tonks was presented with a large mug of steaming hot chocolate and a platter of biscuits to go along with it.

"Really, Molly," she said.

"You just eat up," said the Weasley mother, patting her hand. "And holler if you need anything. I'll be right in the living room."

Tonks was surprised she left so quickly. After her ill-timed announcement last night, she had been hard pressed to get Molly to stop fussing over her. It made talking with Remus a real difficulty, because they could never be alone, and that was why she was approaching her cousin the next morning. She simply hadn't had the time.

Tonks took a sip of her hot chocolate, sighing in pleasure, and Draco finally put the paper down. Tonks studied her cousin as she took a momentary refuge in smooth chocolate flavored just right with nutmeg, cinnamon, and some sort of zest she could never place. Draco's back was perfectly straight, his expression neutral. His hands were resting on the table, lightly clasped together. He was looking straight ahead. Tonks had seen that posture before on her mother, except that Andromeda, as a woman, was supposed to keep her expression pleasant and eyes demurely downcast.

Tonks' father called the position Andromeda's 'default' posture. If her mother was concerned or tired or surprised, she would sit at the table, perfectly poised. It was a posture the old Pureblood aristocracy trained in their children from birth. Andromeda did not talk a lot about her childhood, occasionally mentioning the horrors of etiquette class as a joke, but Tonks knew that what wasn't spoken of was an unhappy life of blind servitude to the family. So blind, most didn't even realize they were unhappy because they knew nothing else.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Tonks began. "I didn't even mean to say I was pregnant. I was trying to keep it quiet, until I told Remus."

"You didn't wish to tell him?" Draco queried.

His tone was too even for Tonks to read and answering would force her to reveal quite a bit about her relationship. It was a smooth move. He must be killer in criminal interrogations.

"Not because I don't like him," she was quick to clarify. He had asked, so she would be open and honest. "Or because I didn't think he would make a good father, but I didn't want him to feel obligated into marrying me. And I wanted to be sure that he really liked me, and it wasn't simply a good friendship or a quick fling. And I wanted to be sure of my own feelings for him. I do care for him, a great deal, but I've never thought of having children or raising a family. It's something new to consider."

Having said her part, she waited. Draco said nothing, just kept his eyes on her face.

"So…," said Tonks, "you don't have to worry about defending my honor."

"The old traditions aren't kept in general society," said Draco. "However, should you request, I am more than capable of dragging him to a wedding ceremony."

Tonks smiled and nodded. "Thanks," she said. And then a thought crossed her mind. "You don't think I'm…that is, I'm pregnant and I might not marry Remus, at least, if he doesn't want to, I won't force him. I'd be a single mother then."

Draco's brows furrowed ever-so-slightly and then one eyebrow rose in understanding.

"You think I may believe you to be a...," and then he paused, and a corner of his mouth rose. "A _lupa_."

Lupa. The old term for a woman of loose morals, a 'she-wolf'. Ha-ha. Her cousin was hilarious. Still, at least he'd loosened up enough to even consider making a play on words.

"So, is that a yes or a no?" Tonks asked.

"It would hardly matter if I did. We've only met a scarce few days ago."

"It would matter," said Tonks. "And you did defend me against a potentially unwilling suitor with only knowing me a scarce few days."

Draco shrugged a shoulder and gave a wan smile. "Yes, well, family," he said dismissively.

"Back at you, cuz," said Tonks, smiling much brighter than he. She swallowed a few sips of hot chocolate and then lowered her mug. "You never answered my question. Do you think I'm a woman of looser morals?"

Draco gave that same faint smile. "I am hardly in the position to judge anyone's morals, or lack thereof." He glanced down at the table, at his mug of coffee. He ran a finger over the edge of the handle, a frown creasing his features before he hurriedly placed them back in the correct position. Tonks wondered if Draco even realized the extent of his rigid adherence to posture.

"I think you have just the same rights as anyone else," said Tonks.

"I wasn't always a Detective-Auror."

"Before that you were a kid. In fact, you still are."

"I'm of age," said Draco, a hint of irritability creeping into his voice.

"Barely," said Tonks. "No one can blame you for the upbringing you received."

"Is that a pardon for all of my transgressions?"

"A great deal of them," said Tonks.

"You are too generous," said Draco.

Tonks watched as his long, pale finger traced the handle of his mug again.

"You know," she said, "we don't see you as his son."

Draco looked up and raised an eyebrow. Tonks gave a smile.

"Sirius Black," she said. "My own mother. Hell, even Snape."

"Snape?" Draco asked. "Severus Snape?"

Tonks suddenly froze, a sudden cold twist in her stomach made her blanch and it had nothing to do with her pregnancy.

"Oh, shit. You didn't know," she whispered. How could she have forgotten? Draco was an Auror, yes, and partnered with Kingsley, but that didn't mean he was an Order member. Of all the things to let slip!

And then she saw the very slight twitch of Draco's lips. She picked up a biscuit from her plate and threw it at him. "You little twerp!"

Draco tried to duck out of the way, but it still hit his shoulder. Tonks picked up another one, but Draco was actually smiling right now, though very faintly, so she simply bit into it.

"Did Kingsley tell you?" she asked.

"I suspected," said Draco. "Kingsley unintentionally confirmed it and then Dumbledore swept away all doubt. I have an open invitation to the Order, you know. Just haven't figured out if I want to sign my name in blood."

The last was said ruefully. A real, solid emotion from him, finally.

Tonks nodded. "Anyway," she said, "I was trying to point out that we're very used to looking past first impressions and family ties. I mean, Snape was actually a Death Eater before he switched sides and you…you just grew up. So, don't expect it to be awkward."

Draco seemed to consider that and then took a sip of his coffee. He looked up at Tonks.

"Lupin has been looking at you weirdly all week," he said abruptly. "And you've been stealing glances as well. When you were trying to decide if you would want him as a husband, you've been scrutinizing his behavior and responding differently to him. He must have sensed that, causing him to withdraw and wonder what's going on. That's why it's been so awkward between you two."

Tonks blinked. "Since when did you become a relationship guru?"

"The tension was obvious. Now I have a reason for it. Simple cause and effect reasoning."

"I bet you're a hell of a detective," said Tonks.

Draco smirked. "You have no idea."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England, Undisclosed Location**

**The Burrow**

**December 22****nd**

**1:23 pm**

"I'm just going to the store, Arthur," said Molly, putting her hands on her hips. Really, this was all quite ridiculous. "I've been there several times now."

"There's been sightings," said Arthur. "And what about the Baffords?"

Yes, the Baffords. Poor family. Muggle, for the most part, but with one witch in the family. The whole house had been destroyed not ten days ago.

"A tragedy, yes," Molly allowed. "But they are all the way across the town. I'm just going in to the grocer."

Arthur turned to Kingsley and didn't the tall Auror look just as concerned.

"You've already put the Christmas lights on the house," said Molly to the large Auror. "You promised that was the last bit of exertion for the day. And I am not taking _you_ with me." She turned her gaze on Arthur. Her husband was good man, very patient and kind with their children and loving with her, but that did not extend to grocery stores.

"Tonks could-," Kingsley started, but then stopped, remembering her condition.

"Charlie," said Arthur.

Their son was building a tiny model broom, and the pieces were scattered about the floor. He had quite the collection of models already.

"I think Mum's right," he said. "There won't be any more Death Eaters in the area, now that they've attacked the Baffords. The house is hidden well and let's not forget Mum can take care of herself."

Molly smiled, knowing that Charlie wasn't simply supporting her because he wanted to finish his broom. He genuinely understood that she was a capable witch on her own right. After all, she'd received top marks when she attended Hogwarts, enough to go on to an apprenticeship at St. Mungo's. Just because she'd given that up for her family didn't mean she'd given up her skill.

Arthur shook his head, clearly unhappy. "I'll go, or I'll ask Remus."

"Remus needs to be with Tonks, and you know you're an absolute aggravation," said Molly. "I will go to the store on my own, and I'll be back in an hour or two."

Arthur looked beseechingly at Kingsley. Kingsley nodded and then moved to the doorway.

"Draco!" he called.

There was a moment's silence, then Molly heard a door open and light footsteps.

"Kingsley," said Draco. "I thought I heard your dulcet tones carrying throughout the house." He appeared and leaned against the doorway. As usual, his clothes were perfectly pressed and his hair was brushed to perfection, shining pale gold in the afternoon light. He could have stepped from the pages of a high fashion catalog.

He raised his eyebrow, and even though his voice had been bland, Molly suddenly recognized the slight edge in his tone: reproach. She hid a smile as Draco stared at his partner.

"Molly's going shopping," said Kingsley. "Muggle grocer. Death Eater citing last week during an attack on a witch and her Muggle family."

"The Bafford case," said Draco.

Kingsley nodded. "Be ready in five."

Draco glanced over to Molly, his expression unreadable, then back to his partner. He gave a short nod, pushed off the doorway, and left.

Kingsley turned to Arthur. "Draco will keep an eye out, just in case."

"Kingsley, he's a child," said Molly. She believed Draco was a capable Auror, but it just didn't feel right relying on a boy Ron's age. If anything, she felt the urge to look after him.

"Draco's got a good eye for trouble," said Kingsley.

"Is he any good in the Muggle world?" Arthur asked.

"Lives there," said Kingsley. "Or did until his flat was destroyed. He didn't have much of a choice, not with Lucius looking for him."

And that was certainly a grim reminder of the atrocities war. The fact that a boy would have to hide from his own father… Molly shook her head.

In four minutes, Draco was back, and nearly completely unrecognizable. He hadn't changed his hair color, or taken a polyjuice potion, or any other extreme form of disguise. He simply changed his clothes and his demeanor. He wore jeans, neat, but with wear showing on the knees and hem. A plain, grey t-shirt was under a partially zipped sweater. His hair was rumpled. His hands were shoved into his jeans pockets. He scuffed his feet on the floor as he waited for the others. In short, he looked like a Muggle. Perhaps what was most surprising was that he looked like a teenager.

Kingsley walked over to Draco and Molly went to retrieve her shoes. When she came back out, Draco was rolling his eyes at his partner.

"Yes, I have my gun."

"Knife?" Kingsley queried.

"Yes," said Draco shortly.

"Restraints?"

Draco gave his partner a glare that could have rivaled Medusa, then he unzipped his sweater. He slammed his wand down on the table, followed by a gun from his shoulder holster. A pair of thin silver bracelets followed, magical restraints. He then pulled a knife from each of his boots. He slipped a chain from around his neck and placed that next to the weapons. A silver lighter followed. Molly didn't know what those last two objects were, or what purpose they served, but Draco turned to Kingsley and crossed his arms.

Kingsley didn't back off, or apologize for double checking what must be standard procedure for IRS Aurors. Instead, he picked up the gun and checked the setting. He looked over all of the equipment before handing each back to Draco to be secreted away.

"Alright. I think you're all set."

Draco muttered a response in some other language that Molly didn't understand. From his expression, Kingsley didn't either.

"Molly," said Kingsley, ignoring his partner, "are you ready?"

And that was how Molly found herself pushing a wire shopping cart through a Muggle grocery with Draco Malfoy trailing a half-step behind.

There were benefits to shopping at a Muggle grocer, but the negatives far outweighed those few positives. For one thing, the Muggle grocery always appeared to be crowded, and the lights were harsh, and everything was in boxes or cans. The wizard's market was full of fresh produce and meats. One didn't have to worry about what sort of chemicals were put in the food to keep it on the shelf for a matter of years. How was she supposed to cook a proper Christmas dinner with canned beans and frozen fruits and 'pasteurized milk', whatever that meant.

She glanced down at her list, feeling harried and irritable. The child screaming two aisles over did not do anything besides grate on her nerves.

Molly stretched for a bag of rice on the top shelf, but a hand reached up and lifted it for her.

"This one, ma'am?" Draco Malfoy asked politely.

"The very one, thank you," she said. Draco placed it in the cart and she noticed the way his eyes flickered up and down the aisle before returning to his position slightly behind and to her right.

"Do you have a favorite Christmas dish, Draco?" she asked, checking her list once more.

There was the slight hesitation Molly had come to expect from him, as if he was carefully weighing his answer before he spoke. She would have thought he was simply trying to ingratiate himself with those at the Burrow, by answering in ways that appealed to the Order, had not his expression hinted at uncertainty each time he was questioned.

"I'm sure that the menu you have prepared-,"

"The menu isn't prepared, dear," said Molly, turning to give him a reassuring smile. "I know the others' favorites, so what's yours? Don't try to wheedle out of telling me."

Draco shifted and glanced down the aisle again. "I've a partiality for cranberries."

Molly patted his arm. "Wasn't that easy? And I think I have just the thing to make."

After all, Christmas demanded there be a goose, and her grandmother had a superb recipe for goose with a cranberry sauce. Oh yes, there would be cranberries. Anything for the poor boy running from his own family this holiday season. And now that she thought of it, she had a recipe for a cranberry sorbet that always received raving reviews. She'd make other flavors too, raspberry for one, lemon also. It would be a good finish to the meal, and afterwards, a few hours afterwards, everyone should be ready for the puddings, pies and cookies.

She turned onto the next aisle. Two young women were there, with heavy make-up and slightly tangled hair. It looked as if they had simply thrown on clothes to run to the grocer, but from the amount of bare skin showing, Molly was sure they had planned their outfits. While they appeared to be in their early twenties, that would not stop Molly from giving them a good talking to if they were her own girls. Appearing in public in such a state showed no respect to others or themselves.

Draco, to his credit, simply glanced them over, searching for a threat in every costumer they passed, and then continued on next to Molly. She had a funny feeling her boys might stare a bit longer, especially the twins. She stopped to retrieve a few boxes of pasta. The girls were somewhat in her way and did not move, even when Molly excused herself for reaching by them. It was then she noticed where the girls were looking. Not at the pasta, or the jarred tomato sauce across the aisle. No, their eyes were fastened firmly on the jean-clad posterior of one Draco Malfoy.

"Oh, for the wand of Merlin!" she exclaimed. "He's seventeen! Go corrupt someone your own age!"

The girls seemed quite surprised at her outburst, and Draco swung around, his hand slipping inside his jacket pocket before he realized who she was scolding and why. Molly had always thought her boys blushed easily, and red-heads always did manage to turn quite unusual shades of purple, but with Draco's pale skin, the flush was quite spectacular. His cheeks, his ears, and even a bit of his neck turned pink, but he kept his face composed.

Molly pushed the cart onto the next aisle rather quickly, but not before shooting one more glare at the quite unrepentant pair of girls. Draco followed, perfectly in step.

"With your looks," she told Draco, "you probably catch the eye of a lot of women. But hold out for a nice girl, not like those tramps over there. You're just a conquest to girls like that and you deserve better."

She patted his arm again, because he was looking at her rather shocked. "Let's get you those cranberries, dear."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**London, Undisclosed Location**

**Outside the Burrow**

**December 23****rd**

**2:12 pm**

Draco hit the snow, his shoulder stinging sharply. He rolled to the left, another curse slicing an inch from his face and sizzling when it contacted the snow. He countered with his own spell and shield, rolling fluidly to his feet and then pulling out his ACE gun from his shoulder holster.

He squeezed off two shots, his opponent deflecting both with no apparent difficulty. Draco spun right, avoiding a barrage of disabling charms from the similar gun held in his attacker's hand. Damn, but he was fast.

Draco called up a screen of snow and returned fire, his wand providing the shielding and deflecting spells while the Automatic Curse Emitting gun provided the offense. He kept moving, crossing around the flurry of snow that kept his attacker blind. But his opponent had anticipated his move and they circled each other around the temporary snow flurry.

A ground-shaking curse rippled through the frozen dirt. Draco jumped high in the air, avoiding the worst of the bucking ground and then correctly layered a protection charm on the snow before landing. The lightning charm that had followed the earthquake spell fizzled harmlessly against the shield.

Draco responded with a quick combination of a shield-breaking curse and a spark hex. His opponent jerked from the contact, his spelling temporarily hindered by the hex. Instead of retreating, his opponent charged him, forcing his wand arm up in the air and striking at his exposed side.

Draco twisted, avoiding the worst of the blow, but he would still have a bruise the next morning. He swung his gun around, but a strong arm caught the barrel and twisted. Draco was forced to release the gun or have his fingers snapped by the trigger guard. His hand now free, he struck up with his palm. Again, he was blocked. He was unable to match his opponent's strength, couldn't even begin to try to move him, but he could use his enemy's moves against him.

His attacker struck out again, a fist aimed for his stomach. He grabbed the man's arm, but instead of trying a futile block, he pulled forward. His opponent's momentum worked against him, and he stumbled one step forward.

Draco didn't try to press his advantage because he had none in such a close range. He retreated, opening his empty hand and calling out "Adesdum!"

The gun jumped into his hand, and the duel began anew. A pattern, a fast, dizzying exchange of spells and blocks, was developed, neither giving a snowy inch of ground. The pace increased, faster and faster, until all thought was impossible and only instinct and reaction was left.

The pattern grew familiar. Block, and attack. Deflect and attack. Block and attack. And once more again. Draco knew to use this to his advantage. He let the pattern grow, let it continue until the moment he chose. He sidestepped a hex, instead of wasting a valuable millisecond to shield, and flicked his wand to cast a disarming spell.

A cold, wet ball of white hit his face and exploded. Draco fell back in the snow, spluttering and wiping his face.

"The hell was that?" he demanded.

Kingsley laughed, loudly. His head was thrown back and his shoulders shook with amusement.

Draco glared and finished wiping the snow off his face. He pushed himself to his feet, taking care to brush the flakes off his coat and clothes. He holstered his ACE gun, slipped his wand into the inside pocket of his coat, and crossed his arms.

"A snowball?" he asked.

Kingsley made a tally mark in the air with his finger. "And the match goes to me. That makes the total 28 to me, 12 to you."

"It's a duel, not a child's game," Draco objected.

"I was using the environment to my advantage," said Kingsley. "Completely legitimate."

"A snowball," said Draco. "Do you really think a snowball is going to work in a real battle?"

"Worked against you, didn't it?"

Draco shook his head in exasperation. Kingsley glanced down at the snow.

"No," said Draco.

Kingsley didn't appear to hear him, but bent down, his gloved hands reaching for the snow.

"Kingsley, I swear to you, if you throw another snowball I will –,"

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England, Undisclosed Location**

**The Burrow**

**December 23****rd**

**2:24 pm**

The duel had been impressive to say the least. Arthur hadn't thought it was possible, but Draco held his own against Kingsley, trading spell for spell. They'd each managed to score a few hits with stinging hexes and minor charms, none strong enough to cause permanent damage.

For a moment, when Kingsley initiated a close range battle, using his fists and not spells, it was obvious to see he had the advantage. Draco was simply unable to compete with a man who had twice the muscle and nearly half a head of height on him. But he'd been able to slip through Kingsley's grasp and reinitiate a magical exchange, and towards the end of the battle, Arthur hadn't known who was going to win. It had been impossible to tell whose curse was whose, everything blurred into sparks of light and two long red coats.

That was when Draco abruptly fell backwards in the snow. Arthur hadn't seen what had happened but Draco was wiping his face and Arthur could guess. The snowball seemed to spark some kind of debate, each holstering their weapons and facing down the other.

From the window, Arthur couldn't tell what was being said, but then Kingsley was grabbing another handful of snow, and Draco was making no move to respond in kind. This time the snowball hit the teen right in the chest.

Now Draco was glaring, brushing off the white powder from his shirt. Kingsley, very deliberately, reached for another handful of snow and began packing it. He held it out, away from his body, and he was speaking. Arthur wondered if he was showing Draco how to make a snowball, or if he was just taunting.

It might have been taunting, because Draco didn't take to kindly to the words. His wand was out in an instant, and then a wave of snow rose up and crashed over Kingsley.

Arthur laughed out loud. Kingsley had deserved that one.

The large Auror wasn't going to let his partner's attack go unanswered. Arthur watched as Kingsley scrambled from the snow, hands outstretched and grasping for Draco. The boy apparently decided a retreat was in order. Kingsley chased him towards the side of the house, steadily gaining on Draco who struggled through the high drifts.

Arthur had noticed Draco's difficulty in the snow two days before, when they had gone to collect the Christmas tree. He wondered if the boy had ever trampled through snow, or participated in a snowball fight. If not, he was definitely getting an education now.

The two combatants sped around the corner and out of sight. Arthur sat back down on the sofa and picked up his paper.

In truth, Draco's stay at the Burrow had gone more smoothly than he thought would be possible. No doubt part of that was due to the fact that the boy was very well-mannered. Almost too well-mannered. During meals, he was largely silent, except to praise Molly's cooking skills when asked how he enjoyed the meal. Tonks could draw him into a conversation, but it was short and formal. Occasionally Draco responded to a tease with a biting comment that was too clever to be truly cruel, but those were followed by an embarrassed flush and silence. It was rather amusing because, when pressed for information, he had a tendency to babble. Usually Kingsley flicked him on the arm, or kicked him under the table to get him to close his mouth, but when he wasn't present, Draco continued to talk in circles, the look on his face growing more and more desperate with every word he spoke.

The other reason the stay was going so well was due to Kingsley. The large Auror could get Draco to play a game or help string up lights on the roof with a simple raise of his eyebrows. Draco would occasionally mutter at this, or roll his eyes, or offer a snide commentary that Arthur only heard when passing by unnoticed. Kingsley took it all in stride, and Arthur suspected that the reluctance and complaints were merely a show.

Arthur turned through the paper and then put it down with a sigh. He'd already read the articles, every one single one, even the financial section. Unemployment didn't suit him.

He'd never been a career man, not possessing the ambition to shoot above his peers. Arthur had frequently chosen his family above his job. If a promotion meant longer hours, he turned down the raise. If it meant traveling overseas, or moving altogether and uprooting his children, he said no thank you. But that didn't mean he wasn't a good worker. He was a dedicated laborer. He found satisfaction in working hard and earning his pay. He found purpose in it. Now, he was unemployed.

He'd been fired from the Ministry late in the summer. It was impossible to find another job because no business wanted to taint themselves with such a 'radical', not when the Ministry was taking a very public stance against Harry Potter.

A few years ago, the loss of his job would mean bankruptcy, but his twins had done very well for themselves and insisted upon sharing their Gringotts account with their father and mother. Arthur hadn't wanted to take it. He had never wanted to be a burden to his children, and had been saving up a retirement fund for himself and Molly, but it wouldn't be enough and with the war, prices were rising with the panic. He hadn't been able to refuse.

And now he had nowhere to go. Nothing to do. He'd finished the list of home repairs he'd been putting off for the last ten years in the first month. The second month he'd repainted the house. The third month had been tolerable with the arrival of Remus and Tonks and Charlie, but it didn't take long for the restlessness to set in again. He needed a hobby.

He sighed and glanced to the clock. Ten minutes he'd managed to waste in self-reflection.

It wasn't just the inactivity that gnawed at him. There was nothing to be done on the war front. Dumbledore had ordered all members not to confront the Death Eaters if at all possible. He had said the time was not right, not yet. And then he had refused to say what they were waiting for.

So the Order had escaped imprisonment by hiding, at the Burrow, or at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur. The twins were in their shop. Some had found refuge in the Muggle world. And they had waited while the government was slowly brought to its knees. While the Ministry stood, there was hope that a full-scale war would not break out. Now, it was only a matter of time. And waiting.

How Arthur envied those like Xenophilius Lovegood, who could at least fight back with words. Or Lee Jordan and his twins, who broadcasted daily reports to counter the propaganda spread by the Death Eaters. Even Dumbledore had Hogwarts to protect. Arthur was idle in an untraceable house. Hell, even Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, had been able to contribute until a few days ago. He felt useless.

The door to the kitchen opened and Arthur heard Molly voice exclaiming at the entrance of the two IRS Detectives.

"What, exactly, have you been doing? I thought I told you no undue exercise, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Just what is the meaning of this?"

"Exactly what I want to know," responded a droll voice. "'A little exercise' he told me. 'Just a few drills to insure my complete recovery.' Next thing I know, he's throwing snowballs at me."

Arthur smiled at the indignant, teasing tone. Perhaps Draco was learning to loosen up a little bit. Then again, he had noticed that the Slytherin delighted in ragging on his partner.

"Don't listen to him Molly," Kingsley responded. "He started the whole thing."

"I started?" Draco asked in incredulity. "I'll have you know I would never stoop to throwing snowballs. Such juvenile behavior is quite beneath me."

"Says the only juvenile in the room."

"Do not mistake age as any indicator of maturity," said Draco. "The entire IRS is filled with such foolhardy persons as my erstwhile partner. The indig-,"

And then he cut off with a yelp.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt!" Molly scolded. "There will be no snow brought into this house. Now, go back outside, the both of you, and brush yourselves off properly."

Arthur heard them troop back outside and went to join Molly in the kitchen. She was spelling the floor dry of melted snow.

"Those two," she told Arthur, shaking her head in exasperation.

From outside there was a thump and a yell followed by a laugh that was too tenor to be Kingsley's deep rumble.

"Why, you little snake!" came a baritone yell.

The door was quickly opened and then shut rapidly. Draco leaned back against the door, his lips twitching, and then he took note of Arthur and Molly. He straightened his clothes and gave a curt bow.

"Please forgive my abrupt entry," he said formally. "My partner will be a few minutes longer as he inexplicably has found himself with a great deal of snow to remove from his person."

"I hope he has not injured himself with any of the day's activities?" Molly asked.

"He is uninjured," said Draco shortly. And then, it must have been the exercise, or Kingsley's teasing, because he gave a rare, wry smile. "Just quite deservedly cold. And wet."

And he nodded again and moved through the kitchen, no doubt to change his clothes.

Kingsley came in a moment later, shaking the way one does when snow has slipped underneath coat collars to trickle down warm skin.

"I'm afraid there's nothing to be done," he announced. "That boy is a Slytherin through and through. I try to teach him to have a fair snowball fight, and what does he do? Brings down the snow on the roof, right on top of me."

"I'm sure it had nothing to do with your snowball down the back of his shirt," said Molly. "If you ask me, you're the bad influence."

"Could be," Kingsley allowed. He inhaled and smiled. "Those wouldn't be apple tarts in the oven, would they, Molly?"

"Quite the nose," said Molly. "Well, go change out of your wet things and you can have some with your tea."

Kingsley kicked off his boots on the doormat, hung up his coat, and cast a drying charm. He sat down at the table in anticipation.

Molly shook her head at the display, but Arthur knew she enjoyed the obvious regard for her cooking. He got together the tea tray while Molly checked on the tarts. Charlie thumped down the stairs, sniffing expectantly and joined the Auror at the table. Remus and Tonks weren't far behind.

Draco was the last to arrive, having changed out of his wet clothes. Ever since Dumbledore had dropped off his things, Arthur hadn't seen him in anything besides business casual attire, except during his grocery trip with Molly the other day. Fine trousers, black or dark grey, and button-down shirts with cashmere sweaters overtop, or some variation thereof. He even wore a vest once.

As always, Draco stepped into the room with a guarded look on his face, as if he might be unwelcomed in that particular room, and as always, he looked for his partner before entering without a spoken invitation.

It appeared the ease of the snowball fight had worn off, because Draco thanked Molly as she poured him a cup of tea and then fell silent. It wasn't as if the others were speaking of topics he couldn't contribute to. Having lived together for months now, and rarely ever leaving except to the Muggle grocer for food, there wasn't much left to say. Even all of the abstract and philosophical subjects had been exhausted, and they were all in such close agreement that there hadn't even been a good debate.

Tonks' pregnancy was new, of course. Molly had flitted about the Auror for two days, spouting out words of advice and tips on dealing with everything from morning sickness to sore feet. Tonks had finally retreated to her room and locked the door.

Remus was still a little pale when the subject of his impending child was discussed. Of course, Draco's reaction had also caught him off-guard. Caught the whole house off-guard, but really, it was to be expected. If the boy could speak the High Language, he probably still followed the old traditions which meant first marriage then children. While that wasn't always followed in the Pureblood society, mistakes were immediately fixed with a marriage, willing or not.

Tonks had to pull Draco aside the next morning and insist that her honor didn't need to be defended. Draco seemed to accept her answer, but Arthur had caught Draco pulling Remus aside. He'd told the were-wolf, in quiet, serious tones, that as an IRS Detective-Auror, he could kill him seven different ways with a simple lumos charm.

It was only natural that Molly should bring up the baby over tea, because there really was nothing else to talk about, but Tonks was getting a little snippy, and Remus looked daunted, so Arthur turned to Draco Malfoy and asked, "So, how did you end up in the IRS? You said before there were circumstances, and I confess I'm a little curious."

That got everyone's attention and Draco looked a little startled, the way he always did when someone asked how he was or smiled at him.

"I," said Draco, and then he stopped and looked at all the faces watching him intently. "Well, I didn't really intend to be an Auror. Never really thought of it as a viable career option, far too plebian, really." And then he glanced over at Kingsley. "Not that I think you're plebian," he reassured quickly. "It's just that I always thought it was too much work for such a measly paycheck. And it's not that bad, if you're a Detective, that is. Not the best, but I rather expected it to be worse. But then again, I just have a flat now, not a lot to spend money on. It's not like I have a castle to worry about up keeping. It's really quite-,"

Kingsley flicked his arm. Draco snapped his mouth shut and shifted in his chair. A flush spread across his cheeks.

"You don't have to tell us," said Arthur. "I was merely thinking it might make an interesting story."

Draco glanced over at his partner.

Kingsley shrugged.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

Kingsley raised both of his.

Draco grimaced, ever so slightly.

Kingsley smiled.

Draco rolled his eyes.

Kingsley grinned wider and turned to the table, ignoring the confused gazes at the silent conversation.

"Draco was arrested," he said in opening.

"I was not!" Draco objected. "There is a huge difference between arrest and a formal investigation." He turned to the others at the table. "After the whole Ministry battle, the Aurors in Business and Fraud thought they could investigate Malfoy Enterprises and seize it on some trumped charges of insider dealing or embezzlement, or whatever they could find." He scoffed, the first real emotion he had displayed with everyone gathered.

"They didn't count on Draco though," Kingsley chimed in.

Draco looked--just a little bit--smug. "The investigation came to naught, but during the time of questioning, I encountered Kingsley, his former partner, and the rest of the IRS."

"I thought you said Business and Fraud was investigating," said Tonks.

Draco shrugged the comment off. "The investigation took place in the IRS department due to renovated facilities and holding cells."

His tone was a little too blasé in Arthur's mind. From showing no emotion, to an over dismissal of the question made Arthur think he was passing over an important component to the story. Kingsley filled it in.

"The IRS inserted itself into the investigation," he revealed. "Right after the Business and Fraud Auror broke Draco's wrist fifteen minutes into the initial questioning."

"What?" Tonks demanded.

"I would have brought a law suit if intent could have been proven," said Draco. He shrugged at his cousin's outrage. "Lucius wasn't popular at the Ministry then."

"That's no excuse!" Tonks exclaimed vehemently.

"Which is what we thought," said Kingsley. "Needless to say, we kept an eye on the proceedings."

"They were absolutely unbearable," said Draco.

"Don't listen to a word he says," Kingsley advised. "Anyway, after the investigation my partner was kidnapped by Death Eaters. I may have forced information out of Draco, and in doing so, dragged him completely onto our side."

"Most reluctantly," said Draco, shooting his partner a dark look.

"And then, a few weeks later, we needed his help with an investigation in the higher circles of society. And he had nothing better to do."

"I was bored," Draco allowed.

"He continued to consult with us until last summer when he turned seventeen and became a Detective-Auror."

"I was dragged into that as well," Draco informed them. "Didn't even have a choice."

Arthur hadn't heard Draco speak this much without babbling before, and he was relaxed enough to tease his partner with mock indignance. Arthur wondered at the change, but also noticed the way Kingsley positioned his chair. The two chairs were nearly touching, with Kingsley's pushed an inch or so farther back from the table. He occasionally rested a hand on the back of Draco's chair. Kingsley was providing subtle support – or was that protection? – for his partner. But perhaps a little of that ease was due to the time spent at the Burrow, and the kindness everyone present gave freely.

"Because he would have refused just to be contrary," said Kingsley. He reached out to tussle Draco's hair, and Draco was a second too late to avoid the ruffling completely. The white locks were so fine, they simply settled back into place, but Draco still turned a glare onto his partner.

Kingsley grinned unrepentantly. Draco gave a small smile.

"Perhaps," he said.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

I'm writing like crazy. Please leave a review!


	6. Christmas Eve Rescues

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter…if I did, I would not be perpetually passing my self-imposed deadlines. Instead, I would be passing by the deadlines created by my publishing company, earning the ire of every publishing house and not just all those lovely folks who want to read my stories without all this interruption business....sorry.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England, Location Confidential**

**The Burrow**

**December 24****th**

**3:00 pm**

A scream had Draco stagger a step forward, not carrying through with the fist aimed at his partner's stomach. Kingsley didn't pause. That was the benefit of almost ten years on the force. Instead of breaking off the sparring with his partner and jerking his head around to the house, as Draco did, Kingsley immediately grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him behind his considerable frame, just in case.

Draco was no longer irked at such overprotective behavior. In the first place, none of his complaints or arguments had any sort of effect. Secondly, he'd come to appreciate the gesture. It was nice to know that his partner looked after him.

It only took Kingsley half a second to determine there was no immediate threat and sprint for the house. The same analysis would have taken Draco another half of a second, another benefit of a decade's experience, but once he saw his partner move, he followed, trusting Kingsley to have spotted any danger.

He drew his wand in his left hand, his ACE gun in his right. Kingsley ducked under a window and Draco flattened himself against the side of the house. He cast the camouflage charm as his partner peeked in.

"Nothing," said Kingsley.

But he didn't holster his weapons as he sprinted around to the door. Neither did Draco.

They ran in to find the Order members in the cluttered, cozy living room. The radio was on. Potterwatch.

Molly was holding onto Arthur, sobbing quietly. Arthur's face was expressionless, wiped perfectly clean, and his eyes stared straight ahead. Charlie was white-faced, staring at the radio, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white and his arms bulged with muscles developed from taming dragons. Remus was holding Tonks' hand. Both looked saddened, but not to the degree of the Weasleys.

A death report then.

Kingsley turned the radio up.

"…where they're being taken. All I know is that around noon today, River and Rapier were taken…" The voice was choked, stunned. "I was out, in Diagon Alley, disguised. We needed food and supplies. There weren't many wizards about, but enough to blend in. I ran back when I saw the smoke. There were wizards surrounding the outside, dressed all in black. Some were inside. I could hear them tearing the walls apart, searching for River and Rapier."

There was a pause, an audible swallow. Molly cried, one short, heartbroken sob.

"I ran around back," the narrator continued, voice hoarse. "Rapier saw me from an upstairs window. He managed to throw the broadcast radio to me, but he was spotted; I was spotted. I had to run. The Death Eaters were chasing me. I managed to get away; I had to leave because I had the radio…I think they're still alive."

Damn.

Alive meant Veritaserum. Alive meant Azkaban and torture.

Draco knew that Lee Jordan was the usual host of Potterwatch, and he remembered the Gryffindor's voice from the Hogwarts Quidditch games. This voice was not Lee Jordan, meaning he was one of the broadcasters now captured. No doubt his call sign was 'River'. Rapier…that moniker offered no clue, but from the reaction of the Weasleys, it must be a brother.

"Loyal listeners," said the voice, and Draco tilted his head, trying to match the voice with a face. It was hard to tell with the strain and the tremors. "Potterwatch will not end. It will not be silenced. If I am taken next, then another will take my place, and another. The truth will not be silenced. This I have pledge to River…and – and to R-rapier."

The voice caught again on the last name, and suddenly Draco knew who it was, or rather, which of two it was. It was one of the Weasley twins.

Draco never had a sibling. He didn't know what it was like to lose a brother, much less a twin. It was said that identical twins had a rare bond, a deep connection that even magic couldn't explain. He wondered what sort of despair the other Weasley twin was feeling now. Would it be the same he would feel if Kingsley had taken? Could it be any worse?

"Fear not, loyal listeners. This broadcast is safe and secure. I know that all of your thoughts are with River and Rapier now. If there is any information on their whereabouts, then please…please try to respond. This is Saber. Good night."

The announced turned off and harsh static filled the air. Charlie Weasley turned away. Molly clutched tighter to Arthur. Kingsley was quick to switch the radio off.

Draco felt out of place. He edged a few step backwards, not knowing how to handle the visible displays of grief in the room. Draco looked from the huddled groups to the dancing flames in the fireplace. The bright stockings hung on the mantle looked out of place, as did the shining, twinkling Christmas tree. Already a few presents had been placed underneath the green boughs.

He slipped from the room and walked over to the kitchen window. The sun was shining outside, glinting on the snow. The wind passed gently over a snowy field, gathering up little clouds of twirling snow dust. Never taught to appreciate the beauty of nature, Draco turned from the winter scene and simply waited.

The sun slipped a little further in the sky. Muffled crying sounded from the living room, then voices, alternating between frantic and reassuring. More crying, but softening now.

A figure emerged. Draco looked up to see his partner exit, face grave but composed. Kingsley grabbed the kettle and rummaged for some tea.

"Do you–?" Draco started to ask, but Kingsley looked over and shook his head.

"I got it," he said. "You don't have to hang around."

Kingsley wasn't usually so brusque. The curt tone gave Draco a moment's pause, wondering if he should try to say something comforting to his partner, but in the end Draco simply left. He had been raised with such abrupt dismissals. It was a relief to escape the emotional turmoil.

He retreated to Ginny Weasley's room and shut the door. He retrieved his school books from his briefcase and settled in at the desk. He was nearly finished with the sixth year Transfigurations lessons, but his classmates would be half-way through the seventh year text. He was too far behind.

It didn't matter that he had a full-time job. It didn't matter that, because of the current state of the country, he'd been working overtime for half a year. It didn't matter that he was trying to teach the subject to himself, instead of being helped by a certified professor. Draco had always held himself to a higher standard, just like his parents had. He was supposed to be the best at everything.

He finished the last two chapters of book six. It took longer than he wished, but he'd begun to expect the delays. Even after closing the book, he wasn't sure he understood the concept, but his shoulders were aching from leaning over the desk and he was hungry. It must be passed dinner time.

He left the room, cautiously. He was prepared to duck back into the relative safety behind the door should he encounter any crying Weasleys. Not that he begrudged them their tears. Let them cry. Their son was probably dead and the proper mourning rites should be observed. He just never thought he'd have to observe the observing.

But no Weasleys were about. Even Remus and Tonks were absent. Kingsley was washing dishes in the kitchen. From the looks of it, a small meal had been eaten, not much. There were still sandwiches on the table.

"Feel free," said Kingsley, nodding to the table.

Draco sat and took a sandwich. Kingsley finished the stack in the sink and then joined him at the table. He looked at Draco with that half-apologetic, half-saddened expression.

"What now?" asked Draco, knowing he was going to have to sit through an apology that wasn't necessary. Sometimes Kingsley apologized for the oddest things.

"I was rude," said Kingsley.

Had he been?

"I sent you away," said Kingsley. "Quite shortly. You were asking to help, showing an ounce of sympathy for a change, and I sent you to your room."

"Hardly my room," said Draco. Kingsley ignored him.

"I should have explained," he said. "I was just trying to see to Arthur and Molly and Charlie, and you looked uncomfortable, and I didn't think –,"

"You didn't think I should be there. An obvious reminder of the fate of their son," Draco supplied.

Kingsley looked taken aback. "What? No! Is that what you thought? You thought that I sent you out of sight because of Lucius?"

"It's a reasonable conclusion," said Draco. The resemblance was more than a little strong.

"No, it's not," said Kingsley. "To be completely honest, I wanted to talk Order business, and I didn't want to start talking with you there, when you haven't decided if you want to join yet. I didn't want to pull you in like I've forced you into everything else."

"Oh," said Draco.

"I would never just send you away like that," Kingsley reiterated. "I'm not… I'm not ashamed of you or think you're useless or underfoot. I should have explained. I'm sorry."

Draco shrugged.

"And you just left," said Kingsley, "like it was nothing."

Draco shrugged again. "I wanted to leave. You told me to leave. We were in accordance."

Kingsley sighed. "But I shouldn't have told you. I should have given you the opportunity, the choice to leave. Just because I'm senior detective doesn't mean you have to follow my every order."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Do I really follow your every order?"

Draco's selective obedience was legendary in the office, to the consternation of his partner and Captain Buchannan.

Kingsley chuckled. "You got me there."

Draco ate his sandwich. Kingsley made a pot of coffee and absent-mindedly sipped at his mug. Draco washed his dishes, returned with his own cup, and found Kingsley still frowning at the table.

"They taking it bad?" Draco asked.

"As well as can be expected, considering the circumstances."

Draco nodded. In his limited career as an IRS detective, he'd had to deliver a surprising amount of bad news. Considering the return of the Dark Lord, perhaps the number of casualties was not so surprising, but he'd seen a vast spread of responses. Denial, collapse, heart-breaking sobs to simple nods, stoic faces. Once there'd even been an outbreak of relieved laughter, but the man had been beating his wife and threatening their children. Draco couldn't fault the woman.

But Kingsley was still frowning, and Draco suddenly realized that it wasn't the look of empathy, but that his partner was thinking, and from the furrowed brows and pinched lips, it was something incredibly stupid.

"No," said Draco, understanding in a heartbeat.

Kingsley looked up, startled. "I didn't say anything."

But he was already looking guilty. Draco stared at him, willing his common sense to be telepathically transferred into his partner's thick skull.

"No," he repeated.

"But we have to do something!" Kingsley protested in a low voice. No doubt to keep from disturbing the grieving family.

"You made them dinner, gave them a shoulder to cry on. You did something."

"It's not good enough," said Kingsley. "I've known Fred Weasley since he was kid. I can't imagine what his parents feel right now, not to mention George."

"There is suffering in this world, Kings. Just because shit happens doesn't mean you have to jump on your white horse and play Potter. Think for a minute. What could you possible do?"

"I won't know until I try," said Kingsley. And then he drained his coffee. Draco watched, in horrified silence, as his partner stood, gave him a brisk nod, and then headed for the stairs.

He couldn't be serious.

But he knew his partner. And even though the idea of simply running out and trying to find one red-headed man in all of Wizarding England was ludicrous in his mind, to Kingsley, it probably sounded like a fool-proof plan.

"Damn Gryffindors," he swore under his breath, and then followed after his partner.

"Where are you even going to start?" Draco demanded.

His partner was pulling on his weapons in his borrowed upstairs room. Draco watched the knives get secreted into tall boots and tiny flash-potions stored in pockets along his belt.

"The shop," said Kingsley. He next slipped two pairs of magical restraints in their holder on his belt as well, then a communications charm. "Something about the report has been bugging me."

"The part about the Death Eaters first surrounding the house, in a surprisingly tactical move, not to mention the all-black outfits, no white masks?" Draco asked.

"And the fact that it occurred in the middle of the day," Kingsley added. "It bugged you too, didn't it?"

It had, but Draco was loathed to admit it. "What about the Holden case?" he argued. "You told me inconsistencies aren't necessarily indicative of a greater conspiracy."

"Completely different circumstances. First off, it was an old murder, the victim had been dead for twenty years. Secondly, B&F were investigating already. Thirdly, we were already backlogged with cases. But Fred and Lee aren't dead yet, and there isn't anyone else to help, and I don't have anything else to do."

Kingsley pulled on his long red-leather coat last.

"How are you even going to get to the shop?" Draco challenged. "It's not like you can stroll down Diagon Alley wearing that."

"I'll figure something out," said Kingsley.

Draco groaned and pressed his hand to his forehead. Merlin, he couldn't believe he was about to do this.

"Fine," he growled. "We'll Floo to my place."

"Your place is gone," said Kingsley.

"Yeah," said Draco. "But do you think they knew about my car?"

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**Muggle London**

**The Pierce Building**

**December 24****th**

**8:12 pm**

"Merlin, Sunshine. I'm sorry."

Kingsley looked about at the wreckage in the deluxe apartment, hardly recognizing the flat. The designer furniture, the furniture that Draco had paid someone else to pick out, was nothing more than piles of wood and scrap material. The pictures on the walls were gone. Large, black blotches of burned paint and plaster covered the spots where they had once hung. The carpet, once plush and thick, with subtle flourishes of color, was gone. All that remained was ash.

Draco didn't stay to examine the damage, but then again, it hadn't really been a home for the teen. It'd been a forced exile from magical England. Draco picked his way over to the door, or where the door had once been. Now there was only police tape. Kingsley wondered how this was explained to Draco's Muggle landlord and neighbors.

Giving the once luxurious apartment one last look, Kingsley followed his partner out into the hall and down the stairs. The parking garage was a well-lit, covered lot. The Ferrari was in its usual spot, on the far end of the garage. It was still bright, glaring red, a prank pulled by Pat Savage. The car had been a gleaming emerald before Pat got his hands on a can of paint.

The car's headlights flashed as Draco unlocked the car with one Latin word. It was a wise wizard who realized that there was something about flashy cars that appealed to every teenager, be they wizard or Muggle. Adapting the cars to respond to spells by their owners was genius that had paid very well at the bank.

Kingsley slipped into the passenger's seat, the chair pushed as far back as possible to accommodate his large frame. Draco ran his hands over the steering wheel, a smile pulling at his lips. Oh yes, even the Pureblood son of Lucius Malfoy loved the Muggle invention of the automobile.

The engine purred to life and Draco pulled out of the parking spot with the ease of a racecar veteran. The car sped through the streets of London. Kingsley wasn't sure Draco understood the concept of a speed limit, but the car hugged low to the ground, easily making the sharp turns Draco demanded.

The vehicle entrance to Diagon Alley was found on a rarely used bridge south of central London. It was rarely used because of the construction sign that blocked the entrance and kept Muggles away. The repairs were never completely, giving the Muggle citizens of the city another reason to detest morning traffic.

Draco wove the car through the construction cones on the beginning of the bridge. The cones were similar to the boundary at King's Cross, giving way to those who drove at them with intent and allowing vehicles and people to simply pass through, but Draco seemed loathe to aim his Ferrari deliberately at anything.

So Kingsley simply grinned as his obsessive partner maneuvered his car with ease and then, once they reached the other side, they appeared at the end of Diagon Alley, moving silently through the dark, empty street.

Though it was Christmas Eve, Kingsley remembered the same street being full of life just last year. Celebrations were beginning with friends and families. Pubs were filled and fireworks graced the night sky. Now the only light came from dim streetlamps with broken glass.

"Obscuro," Draco commanded.

The headlights flicked off and the camouflaging charms took hold, keeping the car disguised in the shadows.

They passed only a few figures. Most were the customary waifs that drifted through the streets. The ones that strode with more purpose, wands drawn, were the army of Voldemort. The Ferrari, magicked to be silent and hidden, passed by unnoticed. That didn't stop Kingsley from holding his breath each time they passed a Death Eater.

The Weasley shop had once been cheerfully decorated, a shining beacon of hope. Now, even in the dim light, the damage was obvious. Windows were shattered, leaving jagged edges in the frames. Shutters were torn down or left hanging by one corner. The front steps were cracked and sagging. The front sign was completely gone.

Draco pulled the Ferrari onto the low sidewalk and parked. The two Aurors looked about before slipping out of the car and into the store.

There was no door. No wards to signal that they had entered. When the store had been seized, the attackers had left the rest of the shop to the mercy of vandals. Everything of value had been taken, leaving bare, broken shelves and scattered debris across the floor.

Kingsley scanned the room for any remaining Death Eaters. He didn't turn when Draco called his name until he was sure there were no threats.

"What did you find?" he asked.

Draco held up a sheet of paper and risked a minimal lighting charm. The words were in block letters, red, a warning.

_The Owners of this Establishment  
have been Arrested for Spreading  
PROPAGANDA  
Intended to Frighten Citizens and  
Promote a Revolt against the Ministry of England. _

_Any information concerning these or other such enemies of the nation should be reported to the Magical Preservative Unit._

"Wasn't Death Eaters," said Draco.

"They've got the Ministry now," said Kingsley. "And the fools left don't even know who they're working for."

"With measures like this," said Draco, "things are going to get ugly. Fast."

Kingsley nodded. Already arrests were being made on the behalf of the Death Eaters. What atrocities would the Ministry be coerced to commit next?

"The good news is we know it's the Ministry," he said. "They'd only take Fred and Lee one place."

Draco looked over and raised an eyebrow. "The holding cells?"

"They were renovated not two years ago," said Kingsley. "You can attest to their comfort."

"I never had to stay overnight."

"Then let's make sure neither do Fred and Lee."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England**

**The Ministry of Magic**

**December 24****th**

**9:35 pm**

"I don't like it," said Kingsley.

Draco gave him a smirk. "Don't think I can pull it off?"

He straightened his clothes one more time, making sure there wasn't a single wrinkle. He was glad he'd taken the opportunity to change before leaving on this expedition with Kingsley. As his mother was fond of saying, 'the proper attire will open the right doors before your wallet can'.

"No. Just don't like the idea of you walking in there without backup."

"I'll be fine," said Draco. "How's my hair?"

Kingsley laughed. "Get outta here."

Draco snapped off a casual salute and then stepped out of the maintenance break-room where he and Kingsley had taken refuge. Getting into the Ministry was simple. Even Potter and his friends had done it at the end of fifth year, and while security had been heightened, it was still rather pathetic. Besides, he'd been working here over a year, and Kingsley for ten. They'd learned all the back entrances and trick doors, making for an easy passage.

Now they just had to fool the skeleton guard posted.

Draco strode through the hall, his polished boots making soft footfalls on the tile floor. His black trousers were perfectly creased down the middle, the matching jacket worn open so that the emerald silk shirt with pearl buttons was shown to full advantage. His wand was casually held in his left hand.

The door to the IRS office opened on his approach and he stepped through to grin a friendly greeting at the startled Magical Preservation guard on duty. Inwardly, Draco cursed, not recognizing the thin, hawk-nosed Ministry drone. It would have been so much easier if the guard was also a Death Eater.

"A very happy Christmas," he said, stopping at front of the desk and leaning against the top. "I hope you aren't stationed tomorrow as well?"

"I-what? What are you-?" The guard was flustered. Draco refused to notice.

"I trust Yaxley's still with our guests?" he asked. "My father asked me to find him, something about not getting an RSVP for the Christmas banquet at the Manor. If he – oh," he broke off, finally 'noticing' the guard's confusion. "Oh. You still think…," and he laughed and shook his head. "Listen, the papers will be running the story after Christmas."

"What story?" the guard asked.

"The return of the lost Malfoy heir," said Draco, gesturing grandly. "I wasn't really _lost_, you know. My father knew when he was falsely convicted and sent to Azkaban that the rebellion had infiltrated more deeply than anyone could have realized. That's why I took up with the Aurors, to keep him and other key personnel informed."

The guard wasn't completely convinced, but he was doubtful. That was all Draco needed, that little bit of doubt to learn one piece of information.

"So, Yaxley," he prompted. "Is he back there or is it Dolohov?"

"Yaxley's still there," the guard said. "Not Dolohov though, just two MP's, Carrs and Barkely."

Carrs was once an II Auror. Draco wouldn't be surprised to discover he'd joined ranks with the Death Eaters. Barkely was simply an opportunist with a narcissism disorder. No doubt he still though he was a loyal son of the government. Still, there were only three. It was better than Draco hoped.

"Thanks," he said. And then grabbed his gun from where it was holstered in the small of his back, whipped it out, and shot the guard with a stun spell. He raised his hand to his mouth. "Clear in front. Three in back."

The communications watch on his wrist transmitted his voice to Kingsley.

"Stay there and wait for me," said Kingsley.

It was an order that Draco would have followed had not the door to the inner office opened out into the lobby. Carrs stepped out. He looked between the guard on the floor and Draco with his gun drawn. Draco fired again.

But Carrs ducked and tumbled backwards into the inner office.

"Shit!" Draco swore. So much for waiting. He couldn't have them send out an alarm. He only hoped that the office layout hadn't been too horribly changed.

He grabbed the wheeled chair from the secretary's desk and leveled a quick protection charm on it. A few months ago, Pat had coerced Draco into a rolling chair race through the IRS office. It had ended in disaster, barreling into Ellington and then taking out Penelope's desk. Pat sprained his wrist and Draco got a bloody nose. They'd both received a stern reprimand from Buchannan. Draco only hoped this ended a little better.

Draco blasted down the door and then lunged onto the chair, picking up speed with a propelling charm and rolling into the bullpen. He crouched on the seat, ducking behind the tall chair back as spells were fired at him. He managed to fire off another shot at Carrs, this time felling the former II agent, but he couldn't ascertain Barkley's or Yaxley's position.

It didn't matter. He had a destination in mind.

Ellington, despite being the most senior detective, kept the worst desk simply because of its positioning. It was in a corner, and the windows around the room, when darkened, provided a mirror surface to avoid the worst of the airplane battles. The windows were darkened now due to the late hour.

The chair was losing momentum, but the desk was within range now. Draco dove over the top, landing hard on his hands and knees, but safe for the moment. He pulled out his wand and glanced at the windows. Barkley was in the opposite corner. Yaxley was in Buchannan's office. Very well. Barkely first.

Draco called up a shield, stood, and cast the Ventus jinx. Barkely went down with a shout.

Too easy.

Of course, Yaxley had been using Barkely to pull Draco out. No matter. Draco ducked back down, catching an edge of the infero curse, not enough to burn through his flesh, but enough to send him to the ground a little faster than he meant to duck. The air around him flashed with the heat of the curse for just a second, and then there was a very familiar yell.

A new barrage of curses swept through the air, this time directed at Yaxley from Kingsley. Draco rolled from the behind the desk and, taking advantage of the split second opportunity, fired his ACE. The gun jerked in his hand with the discharge of the spell, but Yaxley was already Disapparating.

"Damn," said Draco. He got to his feet only to be accosted by Kingsley who could move quite quickly for a man his size.

"I thought I said to wait for me!"

The large Auror was irked, to say the least. Draco tried to extricate his arm from his partner's grip.

"Believe me, I would have. Unfortunately Carrs forced my involvement."

"You couldn't have tried smooth talking him as well?"

"The guard was already unconscious and my gun was out. How was I supposed to have explained it?"

Kingsley opened his mouth, considered his point, and sighed. "Just…don't do that again, alright?"

"I believe I can safely promise not to fire upon a Death Eater in the IRS office while attempting to locate and extricate two hosts of Potterwatch from our own holding cells without waiting for your assistance ever again," said Draco.

Kingsley was unimpressed. Draco grinned and moved off to the door at the far end of the room. It opened into a foyer of sorts with six doors. Three of the doors led to viewing rooms. Three led to plain, concrete holding cells with nothing more than a table and three metal chairs in each.

Two of the doors were closed with indicator lights showing that they were occupied. Draco peered into the first through the one-way glass window and saw the Weasley twin and Lee Jordan sitting on the floor. The table and chairs had been removed.

He swung the door open with a flourish.

"Happy Christmas. Who wants out?"

The two looked up, startled. Draco could see bruises and scrapes on their faces and arms. Their clothing was torn in some areas. They'd fought hard but none seemed grievously injured.

"Fred!" Kingsley exclaimed from behind Draco. He tossed Draco's red-leather duster over his head and pushed passed him to see to the two radio hosts. Draco scowled, pulling the coat off his head with a glare. Seeing that Kingsley had the situation in hand, he turned and crossed over to the second holding cell.

He peeked in the window. This room had a table and chairs. There was even a small, uncomfortable looking cot and a folded gray blanket. The occupant sat on top of the table, legs crossed in some odd, flexible way. Dirty blonde hair spilled down thin shoulders in tangled waves.

Draco opened the door. Luna Lovegood opened dark cobalt eyes, the color of the ocean on a cloudy day.

"Draco Malfoy," she said. She was surprised to see him, but then her head tilted to the side. "Draco Malfoy," she said again. "The dragon of the bad faith. It's a very poetic name. I hadn't noticed before. What's your middle name?"

It was an odd question, but then again, she was an odd girl.

"Banan," said Draco.

She smiled now. "So, you are not the Dragon-slayer of the Bad Faith, but Dragon, Slayer of the Bad Faith."

Draco snorted. "You're grasping," he said. "Would you like to continue discussing the meaning of names or would you like to leave?"

She hopped off the table. "A strange twist of fate," she mused aloud. "Last time I saw you, I was in a locked room and you were trying to get in. Now you are letting me out."

She was speaking of Dumbledore's Army. She stopped to put on her boots, leisurely, as if she had all the time in the world. Draco resisted the urge to sigh. Apparently oddities knew little of time constraints. And nothing about fashion. She wore a lacy, off-white dress over torn, plum stockings. Over the dress was a poorly knitted teal cardigan. She was pulling on large brown, saggy boots. Her hair was pulled back from her face with a burnt orange headscarf.

She stood once she had manipulated the boot laces into a knotted mess that looked as if they would never be removed. Her cardigan slipped over her pale shoulder; it was torn at the neckline, no doubt from her arrest. In fact, her stockings might have been unripped at one point in time. They were split over scrapes on her legs, scabbed over with dried blood. A bruise shadowed her jaw blue and green.

Draco had not sought out the position of Detective-Auror. He did not care much about justice or fighting crime. He had been taught, all throughout his childhood, to exploit the law for profit and corrupt the judicial system for his personal benefit. But he had also been raised with manners, and while Lucius frequently discarded etiquette whenever he pleased, Draco had taken the lessons to heart. That had earned him the ire of his father, and the pleased smile of his mother.

It was that belief in proper conduct that had his blood heat with anger at the sight of the bruise, and the scrapes, and the torn cardigan. He immediately slipped off his suit jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

"I'm afraid it clashes with your ensemble," he said. He preferred blacks and neutrals with accents of jewel tones to her warm earth hues.

Luna stuck her arms through the sleeves. It was too big, leaving only her fingertips visible, but she wrapped the jacket tight around her frame.

"Thank you," she said.

Draco pulled on his red-leather coat, fingers automatically checking the pockets for his equipment, and led the way out of the cell.

"Loony!" Fred exclaimed. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at the offensive nickname, but the girl smiled and patted Fred's arm reassuringly. "I told them about the infestation of Patty-Worgs. I don't think they believed me."

"Well, why you warning them anyways?" Fred asked. "We're not supposed to help them out after all they've done."

"They were using her to keep the Quibbler out-of-print," said Lee quietly to Kingsley. Draco listened in as well. "We just found out when we were brought in. They took her off the Hogwarts train."

"Speaking of 'they'," said Kingsley, "we ought to get out of here while we can. The guard should be limited due to the holiday, but I'd rather not wait to find out who comes in next."

Fred and Lee exchanged a panicked look.

"We have to go," said Fred, and he took off for the door, nearly at a run.

"Whoa, wait up there, Fred," said Kingsley, leaping forward and catching the red-head by the arm. "What's wrong?"

"We have to go. To Shell Cottage. They used Veritaserum, asking where George would have gone with the radio and he would have gone there. Bill's there. With Fleur."

"How long ago?" Kingsley asked.

"An hour."

Kingsley looked over and Draco understood the question.

"More than enough time to organize a Death Eater strike force and raise a house to the ground. I'm assuming, however, that as members of the Order, Dumbledore had the foresight to put up wards. We should still leave now. No telling how long the wards will hold. If Voldemort's with them…" he trailed off.

"Right," said Kingsley. "This way."

Kingsley led the way out to the main office, detouring once by Buchannan's office to pick up the confiscated wands.

"Have enough room in the Ferrari, you think?" he asked Draco.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Yay! I updated. Please review and I shall write as fast as I can.


	7. Friendly Fire

Disclaimer: Not mine. Also, sorry for the wait. I've increased my hours working, and grad school is more intense this semester. My spare minutes are few and far between.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England**

**6 km past Tinhorn**

**December 24****th**

**10:08 pm**

"Shit!"

Draco slammed on the breaks and swerved. His car responded beautifully, it always did, but it was an abrupt stop and his seat belt locked. There was a surprised 'Oof!' behind him as forward momentum finally ended and they all snapped against the back of their seats.

"Drive much, Malfoy?" That was Fred.

"There's so many of them!"

And that was Luna, sitting in between Fred and Lee in the back. She sat forward, poking her head between the two front seats and peering out the windshield. Her hair, long and unbound, brushed across Draco's cheek. He flinched back at the unexpected touch, glancing over to see her enraptured expression as she stared at the thestrals outside.

"What?" asked Fred.

"Thestrals," said Luna reverently. "A whole flock of them."

Draco glanced back in his review mirror. Fred was straining forward, but obviously not seeing any of the winged horses. Lee was similarly blind to the animals. Such innocence could not last long with the approaching hostilities.

"Some say thestrals gather around places meant for tragedy," said Luna.

"Old witch tale," said Kingsley.

"Let's not wait to find out," said Draco. He honked the horn and flashed his lights. The thestrals slowly began to amble off the road, too slowly. Draco revved the engine and then a flash of light lit up the sky farther down the road. It reflected off the thick clouds that hid the moon and stars.

It was impossible to see what had caused it. The road was dark and narrow, and tall trees edged the sides. Draco blared the horn and jammed on the accelerator, not caring if he hit one of the beasts and dented his fender. The thestrals shrieked and their leathery wings beat to pull themselves up and off the road.

"That's got to be the house," said Fred, his voice gaining an edge of panic. "We have to help them."

"Easy, Fred," said Kingsley.

Draco sped down the twisting road. It was a newer road, or newly paved over. That meant he could take the curves at a somewhat reckless speed and not worry about skidding out on loose gravel.

The light grew brighter as they approached, and then the trees were gone and Draco hastily killed the headlights on the car. They weren't necessary anymore. Death Eaters surrounded the house, casting bright spells that impacted against the wards surrounding the house in a large bubble. The wards were invisible, except when deflecting the curses. Then it shone, bright and blue, sparking with the dark magic that attacked it.

The wards were holding, but not well. A few of the Death Eaters had banded together in the front of the lawn, cursing simultaneously, causing great flashes of light as they repeatedly hit the barrier in the same section, again and again. That was what had drawn their attention from the road.

Draco stopped the car before they drove into the light of the ongoing battle. "Obscuro," he commanded, and then shifted gears into park.

"What the hell are you doing, Malfoy?" Fred demanded. "We have to save them!"

The red-head fumbled for the door, but Draco hit the lock button. Beside him, Kingsley unbuckled his seatbelt and turned around.

"There are thirty Death Eaters around that house," he said. "We're going to need a plan."

Draco tuned out the arguments of Fred, who was not ready to listen to reason just yet. Instead he surveyed the house.

Shell Cottage was by the coast. Draco hadn't realized how near the coast until now. It perched on a cliff, overlooking the sea. The drive up to the cottage was open and unprotected by the thick forest. The Death Eaters hadn't cast the Dark Mark yet. Shell Cottage had no direct neighbors, but the Dark Mark would be visible all the way to the small town of Tinhorn. Help would come then. Draco also had a feeling that the Death Eaters would like to give credit of the attack to the Ministry, so that it could be labeled a 'raid on forces hostile to the government'. The Dark Mark would prevent that claim from being made.

"Thinking what I'm thinking?"

Draco glanced over at his partner. "The wards aren't going to last the five minutes we'd need."

"I know," said Kingsley. "You've still got the brooms in the back of your car though. You could-,"

"Like hell," said Draco. He glanced in the review mirror. "Let the civilians go in. I've got mine and your broom in the back. They'd have to double up on one, but if they circle around from the cliff side they could get in, assuming they have a key?"

Draco twisted around to look at the Weasley boy.

"You have a pass through the wards?" he asked.

"Yes," said Fred. "What are-,"

But Draco was already getting out of the car. He walked around to the trunk, the other passengers disembarking as well. There were two broom cases in the trunk of the car. Draco flipped the lids and tossed one to Fred, the other to Lee.

"One of you will have to double," he said, nodding at Luna. "Circle through the woods and then towards the sea. Approach the house from the cliff side and get in as quickly as possible."

"What are you going to do?" asked Fred, a challenge in his voice.

"We're going to run the Death Eaters off," Kingsley answered, stepping in to calm the Weasley boy. "But time's going to be short. You need to get everyone in the house into a defendable room. Understand?"

Kingsley was much better at inspiring obedience. It must be the sheer size of him coupled with his deep voice…and the fact that he was much older than seventeen.

"We understand," said Lee. He mounted the broom. Fred did as well and then held out a hand to Luna. She slid on behind him, wrapping her arms tight around his chest. Fred grinned and patted her hands reassuringly. Draco glowered.

"Let's go," said Fred, and kicked off into the air.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England**

**6 km outside of Tinhorn**

**December 24th**

**10:17pm**

Draco snapped the wheel to the right and the car skidded around, tires squealing on the road, leaving visible marks of their sudden one-eighty turn. Usually Draco was much nicer to his vehicle.

Kingsley hid a smile. "Luna's quite a lovely girl, don't you think?"

Draco revved the engine, staring single-mindedly at the road ahead. While it was somewhat of a winding street, it didn't deserve that much premeditation.

"She looks quite well in your jacket, too," he said, unable to resist another jibe.

The car leapt forward, the force throwing Kingsley back in his seat, but he rather deserved the lack of warning. It was rude to distract an Auror right before a battle.

"Fulgaro," Draco commanded. "Sonor."

Flashing lights burst from the top of the car and the siren began to wail. It was the same siren used by Aurors before a raid or while catching suspects fleeing on brooms. It would be enough to pull the Death Eaters' attention from the house to the arriving cavalry.

The Death Eaters wouldn't take the threat of arriving Aurors seriously. They knew that most Aurors had left or defected, and the only troops who would be responding would be few in number and resources.

Up ahead, the dark shapes of the thestrals started at the noise and lights. In terror, they turned and ran ahead of the blaring horn and flashing lights. Some took to the air, but those in the woods galloped on the frozen ground, unable to lift off with the low branches of the trees. They pounded ahead of the car, an entire herd of winged, skeleton horses, carrying with them not only sharp hooves, but the terrifying thought that they brought with them death.

The thestrals burst through the edge of the wood, barreling down around the Death Eaters. The wards had indeed been breached, but the majority of the dark-clothes followers were still outside of the house, wands drawn at the intrusion.

The chaos was exactly what Kingsley had expected. Some threw up their hands, too paralyzed to remember to move their feet. Others tried to shoot spells, but it was difficult to hit the black horses who blended in to the night sky. Most of the Death Eaters ran, Disapparating with loud pops and bangs. And that was when the Ferrari arrived, the lights and sirens adding to the fear. And Kingsley jumped out, wand and gun in his hand. Draco was a second behind him, throwing the car into park and exiting, gun firing. His accuracy with the Muggle-inspired weapon was more than a little disturbing.

It took less than a minute for the Death Eaters outside to run or disappear with a spell or Portkey. They stunned some, maybe eight, and threw on immobilization charms, but didn't stay to apprehend them. The door on the cottage had been forced open, a few windows broken. A battle was being fought inside as well.

Kingsley ran up onto the porch and ducked beside the door. Draco took position on the other side, looking over for directions.

Kingsley signaled quickly. He'd take the front, Draco should go around back. Draco nodded, and then disappeared beside the corner of the house. Kingsley watched him leaving, desperately wishing they had back-up. He shook the worry off and ran into the house.

A small front hall, stairs leading up to the second floor. Small parlor to the right, and a Death Eater. Kingsley cast a disabling charm a split second before the robed follower. The man hit the floor. Kingsley quickly glanced through the rest of the room, clear. He moved onto the room behind that, a sun room of sorts with large windows overlooking the coast.

A shout and footsteps to his left. Kingsley ran through the back hall to the kitchen. He caught of glimpse of his partner in pursuit of another Death Eater. He sprinted after them, hearing a crash and then rounding the corner to see the Death Eater jumping through a window.

Draco skidded to a stop, not following through the broken glass because this wasn't a raid, it was simply a…house cleaning of sorts. Instead he turned for the front hall, and then there was a blast of magic, and Draco was flung backwards. His body flew through the air, hitting the edge of a china cabinet, and Kingsley wasn't able to miss the sight of his partner's head bouncing off the wooden corner.

The world narrowed on the figure emerging from the front hall. Kingsley was across the room in an instant, hand closing around the man's neck. He picked him up, shoved him against the wall.

"You bastard!" he hissed, and then stepped back, letting the man drop to the floor.

"Kingsley?" the man asked, confused and shaken.

Kingsley's hands shook with the effort not to continue the pummeling. He glanced over at his partner, crumpled on the floor. His arm moved slightly, pulled in closer, and that was it. Kingsley grabbed Bill's arm and shoved him towards Draco.

"Don't let anything else happen to him!" he demanded in a growl. And then he turned, ignoring the instinct that said to run to his partner, and started up the stairs.

Two Death Eaters were trying to get into a closed door. They saw him and ran for the hall window, realizing their time was up. They didn't make it. A curse, bolstered by rage, sent the two of them down. He stalked forward and snapped metal bracelets over their wrists, chaining them together even though it was likely they wouldn't wake up for the next thirty-six hours. Not with that curse. He pulled them into an empty bedroom and locked the door.

He swept the rest of the upstairs, a room that was in the process of being turned into a nursery and a sewing room before banging on the warded bedroom door.

"You can come out now," he called.

The door opened cautiously and Fleur peered out. "All safe?" she asked.

Kingsley nodded.

"Hey, did you find Bill?" Fred asked.

Kingsley turned and ran down the stairs. Bill was leaning over Draco, holding a linen napkin to his head.

"Kingsley," he said. "I didn't know-,"

He got up as Kingsley approached. Kingsley knelt beside his partner and pulled the blood-soaked cloth away from his head. There was a small puddle of the red liquid on the wood floor, and a great deal of it smeared across the side of Draco's face. His nearly colorless hair was stained with streaks of red. Kingsley pushed aside the wet locks to view the wound. It was ugly, and streaming blood as head injuries always do, but it wasn't dangerous. He still felt for Draco's pulse, slipping his fingers underneath Draco's jaw and finding the strong, steady beat. His breathing was even as well.

Kingsley let out a relieved breath and then pressed the cloth back on the wound. Draco didn't stir.

"You have a medical kit?" he asked Bill. He had rudimentary healing potions on his person, but a fully stocked first aid case would have higher quality potions.

"Yeah, I'll get it," said Bill. He hurried off just as the others came down.

"He okay?"

Kingsley glanced over. The entire group had drifted over, unable to resist the pull of the small drama taking place in the dining room. Fred had asked. He was in the front of the small audience, his twin right beside him.

"He'll be fine," said Kingsley.

"We can move him," said Fleur. "Ze couch will be much more comfortable, yes?"

Kingsley nodded and gently scooped up his partner, not bothering with a levitation charm. The kid still had to put his adult weight on and wasn't much of a burden to speak of. He followed Fleur into the sunroom. Of course now, the room was dim, the curtains drawn against the night sky. But Fleur snapped her fingers and the lamps lit all around the room. It was spacious, and full of comfortable looking couches and armchairs.

"He is ze Malfoy boy?" Fleur asked, in light curiosity.

Kingsley set Draco softly down on the nearest couch. Fleur brought over a few pillows to prop his head up.

"He's my partner," said Kingsley.

Fleur nodded. "I can take 'is coat."

Kingsley carefully pulled the red-leather duster off his partner and handed it over to the blonde woman. He then noticed the blood on the coat, and also the blood transferring from Draco's head to the coach and pillow.

"Sorry about the mess," he said, just to be polite.

"It is no problem. I know good spells. I shall clean this for you as well."

And she left, passing her husband in the doorway.

"Here you go," said Bill, handing over the medical kit.

Kingsley popped it open. As an IRS Detective-Auror, Kingsley was quite experienced with minor field injuries, sprained wrists or ankles, hairline fractures, etc. All IRS attended a yearly seminar on proper emergency medical care and went through a certification program. Still, he would have much rather taken Draco to St. Mungos, just to be safe, but they needed to keep a low profile.

He uncapped a bottle of sealant, liberally dosed a clean cloth, and gently blotted the torn skin on Draco's scalp. The bleeding slowed and finally ceased altogether. Next Kingsley retrieved a tiny vial of blood-replenishing potion. It was a little work, getting his unconscious partner to swallow it, but a quick charm made sure every drop made its way down Draco's throat. He left the pain potion on the coffee table for when Draco woke up.

"He'll be okay, right?"

Kingsley looked over at Bill and nodded.

"So…he's an Auror?" the eldest Weasley child asked.

"He's my partner," said Kingsley.

"Oh," said Bill, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "Listen, Kingsley, I'm real sorry. I didn't know, there was fighting, he was running, and I just…reacted."

"He's wearing a bloody uniform," said Kingsley. He didn't mean for his voice to bite with irritation.

"I know," said Bill. "I just…the Aurors are overrun, and I just thought, well, I'm sorry."

Kingsley shook his head. "It's alright," he said wearily. "You couldn't have known."

But he was getting tired of these sorts of situations. He knew Draco strongly resembled Lucius Malfoy, but was that supposed to excuse all poor decisions, all assaults against his partner?

"Who've you got in the house?" Kingsley asked, to change the subject for his own sake as well as Bill's.

"Myself and Fleur and Ted Tonks. George came by just a few hours ago, and then your crew."

"Ted's here?" asked Kingsley in surprised. It seemed that the holiday would be full of Draco discovering his denounced relatives. "What about Andromeda?"

"They got split up," said Bill. "They were supposed to meet here, but she hasn't shown. We haven't had any word. Ted's beside himself, to say the least. A lot like George was actually."

Kingsley glanced over his shoulder. The twins were standing in the doorway, not touching, but close enough they could be. He hadn't seen their meeting, but he knew there had probably been a joke, a laugh, and nothing more except an internal relief only the two of them could feel.

"What's the prognosis?" Fred asked.

"He'll be out for a while," said Kingsley. "But no lasting harm." The blood-replenishing potion would keep Draco out for an hour or so. The rapid multiplication of blood cells was a draining process, and consciousness required far too much energy. His body would drift into a deep sleep, and hopefully his dreams would be restful.

"Good," said Fred. "What should we do with the Death Eater in the drawing room?"

"Put him in the guest room," said Kingsley. "There's two more in there. They won't be able to get out."

And then someone was going to have to decide what to do with them. The Ministry wouldn't arrest them, and the Order did not have the facility, nor the means, to keep prisoners. Getting rid of them permanently would be the most practical solution, but morally, he didn't think anyone at the Order would condone such an action.

Fleur stopped in, giving her husband a warm smile before turning to Kingsley. "I thought I might put some dinner in ze oven. Unless you think they will return?"

"Don't think they will," said Kingsley. "We scared them off pretty well, and they must assume we've moved on by now."

"We'll have to leave though, won't we?" Bill asked.

Kingsley nodded. "We'll take you back to the Burrow. Once Draco wakes up."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England**

**Shell Cottage**

**December 24****th**

**11:55 pm**

Fred and George were okay now. They'd been separated before, of course. They'd never needed to be bonded at the hip, the way some twins were. Physical separation happened and occurred without a fuss or worry. But all of those separations had been voluntary. It was different when Fred was taken by the Ministry and George had fled.

They'd known the other was physically well. The few bruises Fred had received were minor and George had sensed that. But he'd also sensed the danger. It was like the air had become heavy, and was pressing in, constricting his chest. And Fred, for an hour or so, had known that George was on the run. It was a lurch of the stomach, like a roller coaster.

But they were okay now.

Dinner had reflected the general relief of everyone at the table. Fred and George cracked jokes, often times bantering off of Lee. They left the table in stitches, well, Ted Tonks wasn't laughing much. He kept rubbing the compass in his hand, the one that should be pointing him to his wife, but the compass had been broken, the link - a drop of her blood - had been lost.

Kingsley laughed, loud and hearty, and gave a few of his own jokes, obviously edited for content in deference to Fleur and Luna. Every five minutes or so, he got up to see if his partner had woken up.

Fleur had moved dessert and coffee into the sun room, just for Kingsley's peace of mind. Now, with stomachs full and dishes cleared away, Fred occupied himself with fixing the radio. There wasn't any real damage, just some dents and sketchy spellwork. George was sitting next to him, watching Draco Malfoy sleeping on the couch across from them. He wasn't watching because he thought there was a threat, but rather because his twin was so unconcerned with Draco's presence in the house.

Fred set the radio down on the table, a pleased grin on his face that George didn't need to turn to see.

"Done," he said proudly, to the rest of the room.

Luna looked over, from where she was curled up on an armchair, and then she turned back to staring absently at the ceiling. She was wrapping a strand of hair around her finger. Every so often, her eyes drifted shut as sleep gradually crept up on her. Lee had already succumbed and was even snoring slightly in the corner of the room, his arm hanging low over the couch.

Bill smiled, still standing in the doorway. His body language showed he still felt guilty.

George tipped his head to the side as the former Slytherin stirred. One pale hand curled into a fist and his head turned to the side. A few, unintelligible syllables were murmured.

Kingsley was immediately beside the couch, sitting on the edge and leaning over Draco.

"Draco," he said, as if that one word was going to rouse his partner.

But it seemed to work. Draco stirred again, bringing a hand up to his head, but Kingsley caught the wrist before exploring fingers could encounter the wound on his temple.

Draco muttered again. This time, it was obvious the language was foreign and not simply incoherent.

"Speak English, Sunshine," said Kingsley. "You know I don't understand that fancy speech of yours."

Fred and George exchanged grinned. Sunshine?

Draco's eyes opened and then blinked against the light. He groaned, tried to put a hand to his head again, but Kingsley still held his wrist. He caught the other hand too and Draco scowled, looking more like a thundercloud than a ray of sunshine.

"Easy," said Kingsley. "Hit your head pretty hard."

"No shit, Sherlock."

It was a Muggle phrase, one that had permeated wizarding society as there were very few good magical authors, but Fred and George never expected to hear it from the lips of a traditionalist like Malfoy, much less in such a withering tone. So they laughed.

Narrowed grey eyes glanced in their direction, and then Draco was pulling back from Kingsley and trying to sit up. Kingsley let him. Once he was upright, he groaned again and finally touched the scabbed over cut on his head. He swore. Kingsley crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. Draco glared back. Kingsley smirked. Draco looked pointedly away.

Fred and George recognized the silent communication, though it wasn't quite as developed as their own.

"Who hit me?" Draco asked.

Well, that was a bit awkward. Fred and George looked over to Bill who flushed.

"I'm really sorry," he said, starting forward. His cheeks were red, his expression sincere. "I didn't-,"

"You're the cursebreaker," Draco interrupted. "Right?"

Bill frowned, but nodded. "Six years now."

"And one of the fastest on the draw," said Kingsley. "Don't worry Sunshine. You weren't taken out by an amateur."

Draco scowled at the nickname, but seemed very much relieved. Fred and George came to the understanding at the same time. For as embarrassing as it must have been for Bill, firing on one of their own, it must be equally as embarrassing for an IRS Detective-Auror to be taken out by friendly fire, if he was truly a Detective-Auror. They were still a little unsure about that claim.

"Should probably get your head cleaned up," Kingsley continued.

The right side of Draco's face was smeared with dried blood, and his hair was stained red and stiff.

"We'll help," said George, and Fred was momentarily taken aback. He wasn't usually surprised by his twin, knowing his mind as well as his own, but it was obviously a spontaneous decision on George's part.

But he joined his twin who crossed over to the couch and held out a hand to the Slytherin. It was ignored, but when Draco got to his feet he was decidedly unsteady. George took one arm, Fred took the other. They had ample experience hustling and directing people towards unwanted destinations. Often times they dragged their siblings out to the shed for one of their experiments, or more recently, unwilling parents to the more expensive side of their shop. By the time Draco recovered enough to pull back, they were already in the hall.

"There are cleaning products in ze bathroom," Fleur called.

Fred and George headed towards the stairs, their unwilling captive between them.

"So, Draco, right?" George asked.

Draco looked between the two, obviously wary. Fred and George smiled. Draco tried pulling away, missed a step, and the twins easily caught him.

"So," said George again. "Auror, huh?"

"How'd that happen?" asked Fred, picking up the thread of conversation.

"There were circumstances," said Draco.

They reached the top of the stairs and the twins directed him into the master bathroom. Fred pushed down the toilet lid and they deposited him on the porcelain seat. George opened the cabinet, rummaged around, and found a vanishing lotion that promised to take away even the most stubborn of make-up. It was in a pink bottle with a rose sticker. Even the lotion was pink. George tossed it and a clean washcloth over to Fred.

"Listen," said Draco. "I can just wash-up myself."

But Fred already had the lotion on the cloth. He reached for Draco's head; Draco ducked away. Fred grabbed his ear, like it was Ron and he was trying to shove a pastry in his face, and dabbed the cloth on the dried blood. The lotion was quality. On the first swipe, the dried blood disappeared, leaving clear skin. It only took four more swipes to clean his face. By the end of it, Draco was shooting death stares at the both of them.

"Think it'll work on his hair?" Fred asked.

"Might turn it pink," said George.

"You're not turning my hair pink," said Draco.

His voice was steely, and much more effective than the glaring because his eyes were still a little glazed.

"Spose we can stick his head under the bathtub faucet," said George.

"That'd work," said Fred.

By now Fred had figured out why George volunteered to help Draco. He just wondered if the Slytherin was going to recognize the 'thank you' underneath all of the teasing. The twins really hadn't a serious bone in their body. It made gratitude and apologies somewhat unrecognizable.

"Touch me again and I will incapacitate the both of you and lock you in this bathroom with an impenetrable shield. Am I clear?" asked Draco.

Fred and George grinned.

"Sure thing," said Fred.

"Sunshine," added George.

And that was when Draco pulled a knife out of his boot.

"Your assistance, while appreciated, is no longer necessary."

Fred and George backed up, arms in the air.

"Figures," said George.

"Only trying to help," said Fred.

"Slytherins," they chorused together, shaking their heads. They beat a retreat. At least, even if he didn't accept the 'thank you', they still felt better for having offered it.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England**

**Shell Cottage**

**December 25****th**

**1:17 am**

Draco ventured downstairs once he had thoroughly cleaned his hair from any remaining blood. It actually had entailed sticking his head under the faucet and using some charmed soap. It stung like blue nettles and he swore like an owl-keeper. Then he had sworn because he didn't have his wand and had to rummage around for a towel to dry his hair. As usual, the towel left his hair thoroughly mussed, but at least he was clean again.

Kingsley was waiting for him in the living room, a vial of pain-reliever in his hand. Draco took it, because his head was throbbing and the lights were glaring. Then he glared at his partner for leaving him at the mercy of two Weasley barbarians. Kingsley smiled serenely.

"Would you like some dinner, Draco?"

Draco looked up at the French accent. He'd forgotten the eldest Weasley had married Fleur.

"Non, merci," he said. The thought of food made his stomach turn.

"Try some toast, Draco. And have something to drink," said Kingsley.

Draco shot a disgruntled look at his partner. He did not need to be babied, but Fleur was already agreeing.

"Yes. Of course. Nothing too heavy."

And then she left for the kitchen. Draco sat back on the couch, letting his limbs fall loose. Even with the pain-reliever, his head still ached.

Silence.

Merlin, Draco hated that silence. And while no one was looking directly at him, he was being shot glances, curious ones. Ones that seemed to be dissecting his every move.

He hated the scrutiny. He had grown up being largely ignored and all the attention was stifling. It made him itch. He sat up, rubbing his hands on his pant legs.

"Feeling okay?" asked Kingsley.

Draco looked to his partner, pleading with him to do something, to get everyone to stop looking at him.

Kingsley didn't have to do anything. A man entered the room. He was tall, stocky. Somewhere in his forties.

"I'm Ted," he said.

Draco waited for more. None came.

"Nice to meet you," said Draco, somewhat warily.

"I married your aunt, Andromeda," said Ted.

"Ah," said Draco in understanding. "I was never informed of your existence. Family scandal, and all that."

"Oh," said Ted. "You don't…you don't know Andromeda?"

"I met your daughter. At the Burrow," Draco offered.

Ted seemed to hesitate, but then he thrust a gold pocket watch at Draco.

Surprised, Draco took it, realizing it wasn't a watch, but actually a compass. The arrow was spinning lazily. The glass had been recently mended.

"It's a locator," said Ted. "Andy and I, we both have one. We were attacked by Snatchers, and got split up. The locator broke during the battle. I haven't heard from her since."

Tonks would be devastated, Draco knew. He looked up at the man.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I need your blood," said Ted.

"Beg your pardon?"

"The link was a drop of her blood," said Ted. "When it broke, the glass cracked and the blood leaked out. But you're a blood relation."

"A very weak one," said Draco. Brothers or sisters, or mothers and fathers worked best for these.

"But if she's close, it would work."

Draco paused. "It might," he allowed.

"Then please, just a drop. I need to find her."

"Ted," said Kingsley. "Do you have any idea where she might be?"

Ted nodded. "A lot of those on the run…they've been hiding in Rosewick Forest. She might be there."

Kingsley turned to Draco. Draco sighed and slumped back on the sofa.

"Must we rescue every Order member before the night is through?"

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

So, there you have it. I swear, that was supposed to be the last chapter (with a following epilogue), but then Andromeda didn't make an appearance, and I wondered why, and then I realized I'd lost her somewhere. So I guess the boys have a little more work to do, lol. Please leave a review!


	8. Air Travel and More Rescues

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter…that actually may be for the best.

Author's note: Quick apology for the long wait. I mentioned at the end of last chapter that I was planning on that being the ender, with an epilogue, of course, but then I forgot to write in Andromeda. Well, trying to write this chapter from scratch was a little harder than I expected, because then I thought, well, what if the Golden Trio makes an appearance? And what really happened in Book 7 that I can use here? Anyway, wrote upwards of forty pages before realizing it was far too ambitious and better left for a sequel. And this fits much better as well. Please enjoy.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England**

**Several meters above Rosewick Forest**

**December 25****th**

**2:41 am**

Kingsley tried not to grin too widely. He had originally tried not to smile at all, but sitting next to Draco, whose studiously blank face hadn't changed since they took off into the air, was too much.

"It is holiday appropriate," said Kingsley, hoping that might assuage some of Draco's outrage.

Draco blinked once. His hands clenched into fists.

Kingsley smothered a chuckle with moderate success. His partner pulled up the collar on his red leather coat and slouched a bit in the seat. It was cold out. And the top of the car was down in order for better visibility (at this height, with only a location compass to travel by, everyone was keeping an eye out). And traveling at this speed, well, even the magical heaters couldn't do more than keep them from icing over.

"It is Christmas Eve," said Kingsley.

"It's two in the bloody morning."

"So it's Christmas proper then," said Kingsley. He clapped Draco on the shoulder. "The time of goodwill and holiday cheer."

The car lurched. Behind them, the twins laughed and Luna gave a small shriek. Kingsley glanced back to see that her hands were in the air, her head tilted back. Not an afraid shriek then. Draco turned as well and Kingsley watched his partner stare as Luna laughed, her loose hair whipping about her face.

Draco turned back around and caught Kingsley's gaze. He slouched further in his seat, arms folding over his chest. He was probably blushing, but in the dim light of the moon, Kingsley couldn't see the tell-tale pink.

"Anything yet, Ted?" Kingsley called up ahead. Ted half-turned in the driver's seat, the reigns held in his gloved hands.

"Compass still says north. We're getting close!"

Lee whooped from the seat beside Ted. He and the twins had flipped a coin for the front seat. Directly behind Ted and Lee, Fleur snuggled further into Bill's arms.

Kingsley pulled off his gloves to wipe his eyes again. The cold, plus the stinging wind from their speed, made his eyes stream tears. He held his bare hands over the vent on the side of the car, letting the hot air unthaw his fingers before pulling his gloves back on. He looked over to Draco again. His partner had lamented at the magical expansion of his car, informing Kingsley that he'd probably have to take it to a shop to properly shrink it back to five seats, and even then, the proportions might not ever be concise.

Kingsley knew Draco loved his car, but the simple matter was that there was no other way of transporting everyone. Apparating was out of the question, as the Burrow had wards against it. A Portkey demanded destination coordinates, which they didn't have due to the location charm protecting the Burrow. And the Floos were being monitored. They might get one or two people through, but not nine.

And the thestrals, well, most of the nine couldn't see the skeleton horses and in the dark, in the cold, it really wasn't feasible to ride. So the Ferrari had to be stretched.

"Come on," said Kingsley to his still-sullen partner. "It's Christmas. And here we are, in a red convertible, with the top down so it even looks like-,"

"I will toss you over the side," Draco interrupted.

Kingsley grinned. That was better.

"And we're flying," he continued. "Through the night."

"I'm only warning you once," said Draco.

Kingsley pressed his mouth shut, but only to keep from laughing. Draco shot him a satisfied look and shifted down even further.

"And we're being pulled by eight flying, equine creatures," Kingsley added, unable to stop the words. "If only they had antlers-,"

Draco lunged with a curse. Kingsley laughed, fending off the fast, but not full-strength strikes.

Luna leaned forward over the seat, and Draco immediately pulled back.

"Isn't it exhilarating?" she asked.

"It certainly is," said Kingsley, and then he turned to Draco, waiting for a smooth reply, a compliment and a promise, all in one. There was no denying that his partner could charm the cloak off a Dementor when he put his mind to it.

But Draco didn't respond. Instead, his eyebrow was raised and he was studying Luna as if she were some new form of constellation in the sky. And Luna tilted her head and studied him right back.

"I thought you like flying," she said.

"Oh, I like flying," said Draco. "But this isn't flying. This is sitting in a floating car hooked up to eight wild, winged horses in the middle of a winter night hoping to find refugees in the middle of a haunted forest."

"You'll have to forgive Draco," said Kingsley. "He's not the adventurous type."

"Why ever did you join the Aurors then?" asked Luna.

"I must have temporarily taken leave of my senses," said Draco.

Kingsley scoffed and cuffed him lightly upside the head. Draco glared, but Luna nodded sagely.

"It might have been nargles," she said.

While Kingsley knew of Luna's…odd beliefs, it was the first he had heard them first hand. Fred and George, beside the girl, groaned and rolled their eyes.

"Nargles?" Kingsley asked.

"They live in mistletoe," said Luna. "They have a unique scent that is undetectable to humans, and it causes temporary insanity."

Fred and George snorted. Draco tipped his head to the side.

"It would explain why Alecto Carrow was caught snogging Igor Karkaroff during a Death Eater Christmas cocktail party," he said.

Kingsley stared at Draco. "When were you at a Death Eater Christmas Cocktail party?" he demanded.

"It was two years ago. I didn't know you then, so relax," said Draco. "Anyway, created quite the stir as you might imagine, considering the family scandal."

They didn't imagine, because they didn't know the family scandal. Draco saw their incomprehension and expounded.

"There are rumors that Romilda Carrow had an affair with Dmitry Karkaroff, which would make Alecto and Igor cousins."

"No," said Fred.

"Sick," said George.

They were both fascinated and leaned forward, obviously wanting Draco to continue.

Draco shrugged. "There's bad blood between the two families, due to the rumor, and when Amycus saw the two getting quite amorous, he snapped and started cursing, and then the Rosier's were involved, being related to the Carrows, which pulled dear Aunt Bellatrix into the fray. Anyway, it continued until nearly everyone was throwing hexes or trying to grab the wine and run. It all ended with a few well-placed crucios from the Dark Lord, but it was the liveliest party since Anton Dolohov unwittingly hit on a half-sister of his."

"Bloody hell," said Fred.

"You got anymore stories?" asked George.

Kingsley waited with interest as well. He knew a lot about his partner, his favorite food, his favorite color, how he liked his coffee, but he'd learned all those through careful observation. Draco didn't share a lot about growing up. Kingsley didn't know if it was because of who his parents were, or if he was simply that private.

Draco gave another shrug. "I was generally not invited to such gatherings, being too young and all. The only reason I saw that one was because it was held at the Manor. But Mother caught me hanging over the banister and sent me to bed, and the next soiree was held at the Nott's. And that summer I left, and so my interactions with Death Eaters have actually been quite limited considering my family's associations."

"It's a bloody good story though," said Fred.

"You sure it's the truth?" asked George, crossing his arms. He obviously wondered if Draco was pulling one over on them.

The car lurched roughly to the side before Draco could respond. Kingsley was thrown to the right, managing to reach out at the last second to brace himself against the car door, and then catch Draco as well as his partner slid into him.

"What the hell?"

Kingsley peered over the side of the car, grabbing tightly onto the door as the thestrals jerked in their harness. Ted shouted, trying to rein them in, but they were wild animals, not meant for domestication.

There were flashes of light in the forest below, reflecting off the trees. A small battle was being fought.

The car jerked once more in the air before Ted regained control and leveled off the flight pattern.

"What do you think?" Kingsley asked.

"Wasn't a deliberate hit," said Draco, peering over the door on his side.

"A small skirmish, then. Probably fugitives," said Kingsley.

"There's a lot of fugitives these days."

And wasn't that the truth. "Snatchers, you think?" asked Kingsley.

He wasn't really asking Draco's opinion, but rather they both followed a similar logic when assessing a situation. Speaking it aloud had become habit. A comfortable habit.

"Must be," said Draco.

"The compass!" Ted exclaimed. "That's Andromeda. She's down there! We have to help."

Kingsley turned to Draco who had a weary expression on his face. "Of course she's down there," the teen muttered darkly.

Usually his partner enjoyed these adrenaline-fueled rescues. Apparently it wasn't as fun when the rescue entailed estranged relatives.

"We need to get down there," said Kingsley. "It looks-,"

"Bad," Draco finished in an understatement, for the benefit of the civilians on board. "What do you think? Ten?"

"No more than fifteen," said Kingsley.

Draco looked at the forest below, and then turned with a sly grin. "Race you down?" And then he vaulted over the car door and fell silently through the night air. Fred and George swore in shock. Kingsley leaned over the edge.

"Cheater!"

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England**

**In the heart of Rosewick Forest**

**December 25****th**

**3:04 am**

Andromeda ran. Her lungs burned and her legs ached. Her foot hit a log and she fell, scraping her palms and knees. She gasped, trying to bite back a cry, not of pain, but of fear and exhaustion and frustration.

She'd been captured for five days. She hadn't been tortured much. Ironically, her sister Bellatrix was the only one who dared raise a wand to her. In truth, as a non-active member of the Order, she really had nothing of importance to relay. Her fellow prisoners had not been so lucky.

A bright red curse flew over her head. She pushed herself to her feet, ducking low, and continued to flee. She didn't have a wand, but that didn't mean she was defenseless. She wasn't going to be dragged back to her brother-in-law's dungeons without a fight. A dim moonbeam trickled through the treetop, lighting her way just enough to see the large stick on the ground. She snatched it up as she ran. Her hands just circled the width.

She ran into a thicker section of forest, where she could duck behind a tree and remain largely hidden in shadow. She calmed her breathing and tried to listen for her pursuers. Dolohov and Rosier were after her. While neither were impressive duelists, without a wand, she couldn't hope to best both of them. She could only hope to keep their interest a little longer.

Shouts followed her. Wand light streamed through the trees as the Death Eaters approached. She took a breath, listening to the footsteps approach.

"Where'd she go?" Dolohov called. He was several feet behind her.

"How the hell should I know? I want to know is how they got out in the first place." Rosier's voice was fainter, trailing much further behind.

With Dolohov so close, she could hear his progress. Close now. Just another second.

Dolohov walked by the tree, passing her, not even turning to look. She stepped out and swung the branch. It hit his head with a sickening thud. He dropped without a shout or a yell, but the noise was enough to grab Rosier's attention.

"Anton?" he called. She could hear him run forwards. "Anton? What the-?"

He cast a lumos. She saw Dolohov's wand, still clutched in his hand, but Rosier saw her. She still tried for the wand, trying to beat the curse that must be coming. Her eyes closed even as her fingers closed over the smooth wood.

"IRS! Drop your wand!"

Andromeda whirled at the shout, hope blossoming in that one instant. Rosier turned as well, wand striking out, cursing forming. A stunner hit him in the chest and he fell. His wand light blacked out, leaving the forest in the dim light of the moon once more.

Andromeda cast her own lumos with Dolohov's wand. The light flickered over the red-leather coat of an IRS Auror but it was a borrowed wand, difficult to use and the light did little to combat the black. The red coat was the only distinguishing feature she could see.

"Are you alright?" the Auror asked. His voice sounded young.

"Yes, thank you so much," said Andromeda. Her voice was more relieved than grateful. She hoped she didn't sound rude.

"Is there anyone else with you?"

"Yes," said Andromeda. "But we were separated when we escaped. I don't know where they would be."

The Auror nodded and cast a location charm. "You can follow me," he said. "But please stay back in case of hostilities."

"Yes, of course," said Andromeda. She followed the Auror through the woods.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England**

**On the northeast corner of Rosewick Forest**

**December 25****th**

**3:11 am**

Kingsley surveyed the fallen Death Eaters with satisfaction. Three. Not bad. In truth, the battle had been a little disappointing. He didn't recognize the Death Eaters as anyone high in the ranks, and they'd only been moderately skilled duelers.

It was troubling, however, that they were actual Death Eaters, and not Snatchers. Death Eaters meant that this was the work of Voldemort. Snatchers took orders from the Death Eaters in the Ministry, more of an indirect service. But what were Death Eaters doing all the way out here? Ollivander was an old man. He doubted the wandmaker could have run far. Where did they come from?

He spared a quick thought for Draco. He hoped his partner was encountering other no-named Death Eaters, easy to defeat, but knew it wasn't likely. He needed to get to him.

He turned to the old man sitting on the log, hand over his heart.

"You alright, Mr. Ollivander?" he asked.

The wandmaker lifted his head and blinked at Kingsley. "Oak," he said. "Dragon heartstring, which is an odd combination, to be sure. The heartstring is usually paired with darker woods, yew and hawthorne, which makes for greater compatibility. To control such a mismatched wand, you must have great strength. The result is well worth it though. That wand is capable of very powerful spells."

Kingsley glanced down at the wand in his hand. Huh. He'd never given it much thought before. Still, if Ollivander was spouting off wandlore, he must be alright.

"Mind telling me if there are anymore of you down here?" he asked. He wondered if Draco had run into his aunt yet.

"There were several of us held," said Ollivander. "A young man and a woman."

"Andromeda Tonks?" asked Kingsley. "Was she the woman?"

"Brown hair," said Ollivander. "Then…then more were brought. Three. Two boys, one girl. Teenagers, so young."

Kingsley felt the stirring of fear. "What three teenagers?" he asked.

"The boy who lived," said Ollivander. "There. In the dungeon."

Kingsley crossed over to the log and crouched down to stare into Ollivander's pale eyes. "What dungeon?" he asked slowly.

"In the great house. Beautiful house, but cold. That way."

Ollivander pointed and realization hit. The only home in that direction was the Malfoy Estate. Granted, it was a day's journey south, but if Ollivander had managed to Apparate outside of the grounds then it would put him just about here.

"Is Harry Potter still in the dungeon?" Kingsley asked.

Ollivander looked away. "Such a dark place to be held for so long. And now it is night still. No sun to be seen."

Perhaps the old man wasn't alright. Kingsley gripped his shoulders. "Ollivander! Listen to me. Is Harry Potter still in the dungeon? Answer, dammit!"

Ollivander swung his head back. "We got out," he said. "House-elf came. Got us out. We ran. We drew the Death Eaters away. Some still followed."

"Where did they go, Ollivander? Which way?"

Ollivander blinked and then looked around. He pointed. "That way," he said, pointing the opposite direction from where he had been running. "The boy with the scar and his two friends."

Damn it. Kingsley cast an agonized look towards the heart of the forest. Draco was somewhere in there with a whole contingent of Death Eaters. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley were in the opposite direction, with a whole contingent of Death Eaters chasing after them. The odds were better in their favor, they were three, and Draco was alone. But if there was to be salvation, it lay with Harry.

"Stay here," Kingsley ordered Ollivander. "I'll be right back."

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England**

**Somewhere in the middle of Rosewick Forest**

**December 25****th**

**3:27 am**

Dean Thomas ran. His lungs burned and his legs ached. Deep pain radiated from his ribs. Before, in the dungeons, he thought he wouldn't be able to run. Now, not only was he sprinting through the woods, he carried the limp body of Dobby.

A snarl and a bark behind him. Fear made his blood run cold and his feet pump faster. There was a tree up ahead, with a low, hanging branch. Anything to escape the teeth.

He raised Dobby above his head, not feeling the sparks of fire in his chest.

"Climb!" he gasped, hoping Dobby would be able to pull himself up. He didn't know how deeply the knife had damaged the house-elf.

Dobby weakly grasped the branch. Dean glanced behind him. He pushed Dobby, shoving him up and then grabbed the branch himself. He wasn't going to make it.

Blinding white light filled the woods and his eyes slammed shut instinctively. There was a shout.

"IRS! Drop your wands. Get down on the ground!"

Dean didn't have a wand, and he was too afraid to move. People yelled, curses zinged all around him. Dean risked a blink. The light was gone, replaced by colored flashes of light. He could just make out a red-coated form battling. Curses flew from both of his hands. He sidestepped, twirled, and blocked with incredible precision.

A cry. One Death Eater fell. The other wasn't far behind. Dean looked around. Where was-?

The werewolf leapt from the shadows. It barreled into the Auror, sending him flying backwards. The Auror hit a tree and tumbled to the ground. The werewolf leapt, his claws outstretched. The Auror rolled but the claws still connecting, raking across the back of his coat, and Dean knew the Auror was done for. He'd seen those claws.

The werewolf tossed the Auror once more. Dean watched the Auror land, tucked into a ball, but then the werewolf turned its yellow eyes to him.

"Shit!"

Dean whirled around and grabbed at the tree branch, trying to get up and away. His feet scrambled on the bark of the trunk. He hooked one leg over the branch, and then something heavy hit his side. He fell, tumbling to the ground. Pain shot up chest and sides. He gasped for air, but none seemed to come in. It hurt. Merlin, it hurt!

The wolf leapt again, and all Dean could do was stare with wide eyes as the teeth snapped in front of his face.

"No," he whispered once.

A red flare of light shot across the night and slammed into the wolf's shoulder, sending the animal rolling to the side. The Auror was up, running forwards, gun firing in quick succession. The werewolf was too fast. It darted behind a tree and was lost in the dark.

The Auror stopped, but didn't lower his gun. His wand was held in his other hand, arm half-up, ready to strike.

Dean didn't see the movement, but the Auror was already turning, even as another Death Eater charged from the forest. Spells fired, nearly simultaneously. Dean tried to follow the battle, but it was too fast. One spell was deflected high, hitting the top of a pine tree and setting it ablaze. It was the light of the flames that let Dean see the dirty gray-brown fur of the wolf.

"Look out!" he shouted.

He had expected the wolf to lunge for the Auror, its biggest threat. Instead, the wolf charged him, targeting the prey that had escaped.

Dean threw up an arm, expecting to feel teeth bite into his arm. He didn't know what he feared more, the pain of the bite, or the curse of the wolf. It wasn't the full moon. Would that protect him?

"Impedimenta!"

That was Andromeda. Her curse tumbled the wolf. With a growl, the creature recovered and leapt for her. A stunner hit the animal's shoulder, fired from the Auror's gun. The werewolf staggered. The Auror, still locked in battle with the Death Eater, spun away from a spell and fired again. The wolf dropped to its side. The paws scrabbled in the dirt. The teeth snapped. The Auror managed to disarm the remaining Death Eater and stunned him as well. He stalked over to the fallen monster. He raised his gun and fired once more.

The werewolf lay still.

Dean stared at the Auror. He'd thought the man was finished when the wolf mauled his back with his claws, but now he could see the leather had held true. It must be magically reinforced. The Auror turned to him. In the firelight, a red stripe along the side of his neck gleamed wetly.

"You alright?" the Auror asked.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England**

**On the eastern edge of Rosewick Forest**

**December 25****th**

**3:35 am**

It didn't take long to find Harry and his friends, even with the tricky business of Apparating through the woods. It involved taking a series of small jumps and keeping a clear concentration, otherwise one might end up splinched around a tree. It was on the eighth such small jump that he heard the tell-tale spark and fizzle of magic up a head.

Kingsley ran, knees bent and crouched low, not wanting to give away his cover. The woods had thinned here. More light made it through the sparser leaves and he could see dark figures running, shooting curses. They did not see him. They had no reason to fear an attack.

A spot of white caught his attention. Up ahead was a small meadow. A figure was running for it, no, three of them. One would run ahead, the others covering behind a boulder or tree. They moved well for only being teenagers, but they were making a rookie mistake by heading for the meadow. Kingsley had no doubt Harry, Hermione, and Ron could hold their own against the four Death Eaters chasing them, but the Death Eaters would not be lured into the open for a fair battle. They would strike from the trees.

Kingsley put on a burst of speed, risking a small charm to muffle his steps. He was within striking range. He could have taken the first Death Eater out with a black curse, one that did not exit the wand in a burst of color, but the other Death Eaters were closing in on the three Gryffindors.

So instead he stepped out from behind the tree and called out Harry's signature spell.

"Expelliarmus!"

The Death Eaters wand went flying and was lost in the dark woods. Kingsley followed that with a stunner. The other Death Eaters had turned now, surprised at the new threat, but still lethal in their response. Kingsley leapt to the side, calling up a shield and pull his gun out of his holster. He was nowhere near as accurate as his partner with the gun, even though he had ten years of experience. Still, he managed to clip one of the Death Eaters as he blocked the attacks with his wand. And then, as he knew they would, the three Gryffindors took advantage of the Death Eaters' distraction. They joined the battle as one.

It was over in a matter of seconds. The Death Eaters fell and Kingsley was left looking across a dark wood at three figures. They were easier to see than the Death Eaters. Kingsley didn't think any of them were wearing coats and their light colored shirts and pale skin made them standout against the dark wood.

"Hello? Mr. Ollivander? Dean?"

Kingsley recognized Harry's voice. While he could see the three, it was impossible to distinguish much more, but the figure in the middle had stepped forward.

Kingsley waved, knowing they'd only be able to see his red coat.

"You should keep going Harry," he shouted back. "Everyone's all taken care of. Go on now, before anymore come along."

Hermione pulled at Harry's hand.

"But who are you?" Harry yelled back.

"St. Nick," Kingsley called with a laugh. "Have a Happy Christmas!"

And then the boy hero was pulled away to fight his own private war. Kingsley turned back. He had a partner to find.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England**

**Still somewhere in the middle of Rosewick Forest**

**December 25****th**

**3:58 am**

Draco finished tying the bandage on Dean Thomas's chest. The Gryffindor was staring vacantly at the flames in the tree. After putting Fenrir down, Draco's first action had been to contain the fire to the one tree, to keep it from spreading, but he let the fire burn for light and to signal Kingsley. Then he'd properly restrained the Death Eaters. Afterwards he'd approached the male fugitive and done a quick patch job. He'd been surprised to recognize Dean Thomas, even though the Gryffindor student was too dazed to recognize him. He'd thought the seventh year would be in school or at least lying low. His status as an unknown Half-Blood or Muggle-born would put him on a lot of Ministry watch lists. Apparently the Death Eaters had got to him first.

Draco glanced back to Andromeda. She was standing a little ways removed, a little closer to the fire. Neither of the two were wearing coats.

"Not anymore of you, are there?" he asked.

On the ground, Thomas stirred at the question.

"Do," he started, struggling a little to sit up. "Do-ey!"

Draco pushed on his shoulder. "Hold still. You broke a few ribs. The last fall you took punctured a lung."

He'd managed to repair the damage rather easily, as there was a potion for lung and a spell for the ribs. That didn't mean the Gryffindor was cured.

The teen raised a hand at the tree he'd fallen out of. "Do-ey," he gasped.

Andromeda gasped as well and then sprinted for the tree. She reached up and lifted a small form from the lowest branch.

"You have a kid with you?" Draco asked in disbelief.

"House-elf," said Andromeda, setting the limp body on the ground. "He's hurt, badly."

A house-elf? Draco found himself thoroughly confused, but he pushed himself up from his kneeling position, ignoring the way his back twinged with the promises of bruises in the morning. His knee protested as well. It was swelling slightly from where he struck it on a rock when tossed by Fenrir Greyback. He joined Andromeda below the large tree. The fire provided just enough light to see the injury.

"Knife wound," said Draco. He pulled a vial of sealant from his coat pocket. He had no idea if this would even help the house-elf, but the elves were tough creatures, so he doubted it would bring any further harm. He doused the cut in the liquid and then stared in surprise as the liquid fizzled and evaporated, leaving unmarked green skin behind. Apparently it worked very well.

The creature's eyes snapped open and locked on Draco's face.

"You!"

A flash of blue. Draco was flung backwards, much like the werewolf had tossed him. He was getting quite adept at tucking when he hit the ground. This time, he managed to roll right back up again, his gun already drawn and aimed.

"Stay back!" the house-elf demanded in its high voice. "Dobby revokes the son of Malfoy!"

"You stay the bloody hell back," Draco snapped. "I'll have you arrested for assaulting an officer of the law."

"Wait, Malfoy?" Thomas asked from the ground.

"Malfoy?" Andromeda repeated.

"Dobby protects the friends of Harry Potter," the house-elf announced. "Dobby rescues them from former master. Malfoy is revoked. Dobby is free."

"Bully for you," Draco snapped.

"He used to be your house-elf," said Dean, a little bit of bite in his words considering his lung was only recently re-inflated.

"Oh," said Draco. He lowered his gun a fraction. "That house-elf."

"Yeah," said Dean. "That was how he was able to rescue us from your bloody dungeon. So what now, Malfoy? Come to toss us back in?"

"It's tempting," Draco snapped back. Didn't a rescue earn him a bit of gratitude?

"Draco Malfoy?" Andromeda asked. Her voice was amazed. "Little Draco Malfoy?"

She stepped forward and Draco was forced to lower his gun completely as she stopped right in front of him. She was a tall woman, more reminiscent of Bellatrix than Narcissa. She had the same high forehead and strong jaw. The thin bow lips and straight nose. But her hair was lighter, chestnut instead of black. Her eyes were wider, adding a hint of innocence. Her lips weren't twisted, but smooth and smiling.

"Look at you!" she exclaimed, reaching out to cup his cheek. "All grown up, and an Auror to boot. Oh, you are so handsome!"

Draco took a step back to get her hand off his face. "Hello," he said politely.

"You don't remember me, do you?" she asked. "You used to call me Aunt Dommie. I would read bedtime stories to you. You loved _Fenwick and the Haunted Castle_. You'd ask for it every night."

Draco had a flash of the book. A colorful picture on the front. Characters that would pop out of the page and battle on the paper.

"I don't-," he started, and then she was right back in front of him, hand on his cheek again.

"It is so good to see you," she said. "You look like your mother."

And that was new. She noticed his surprise.

"You have her nose," she said. "And her eyelashes. How I envied her eyelashes."

They really weren't anything special. Narcissa was always charming hers black because she hated the startling white color they were naturally.

"I'm pleased to meet you," said Draco.

Andromeda suddenly threw her arms around him and squeezed. She stepped back before Draco quite got over the surprise.

"How you've grown," she said, with a smile. "I haven't seen you since you were three, you know. That was when mother realized I wasn't going to leave Ted and Nymphadora. After that, well, look at you now. How long have you been an Auror? Are you even old enough to join? How did you find us?"

And then she stopped. Draco preferred the rapid fire questions, because he couldn't get a word in edgewise even if he wished to answer. Now, he swallowed, glanced over at the prone figure of Dean and the glare of the tiny house-elf.

"I, uh, I didn't find you really, not exactly. Your husband had the compass. He was with Bill Weasley and when we – my partner and I – stopped by, I mean, we didn't just stop by, there was an attack, because of the radio, the Potterwatch station, the Ministry arrested Fred Weasley and Lee Jordan. It wasn't really the Ministry, of course. It's mostly Death Eaters now, not that their all Death Eaters, but sympathizers and those who don't want to risk their lives, but they were still taken to the Ministry, to make it look official, and from there, we went to Shell Cottage, and then here."

Draco cut himself off, wishing that Fenrir's claw on his neck had raked over his vocal chords and left him unable to talk.

Andromeda was obviously trying to work through his convoluted babble. Her eyebrows were furrowed in puzzlement, but she gave a gracious smile.

"Sounds like you've had a busy night."

"We've had worse," said a new voice.

Draco didn't start the way the others did. As soon as the sound hit his ears, he immediately knew who it was. Relief swept through, lifting the tension in his chest.

"Kingsley," he said, in simple greeting.

Kingsley stepped out of the shadow with an old man trailing behind him. It took a minute to place the man as Mr. Ollivander.

"Looks like you made some friends," said Kingsley, giving an easy grin. "And made some enemies." He gestured to his own neck in reference to Draco's injury.

Draco shrugged a shoulder. "No new ones."

"Kingsley," said Andromeda. She held out a hand and Kingsley clasped it gently.

"You made your husband a very worried man," he said.

Apparently his partner was better acquainted with his aunt than he was.

"Are you injured?" Kingsley inquired.

"No, just a little bruised."

"And here?" Kingsley asked, looking over at Dean.

Draco let out a breath, pleased that his partner was here to handle the civilians. It wasn't that Draco was lacking social skills, but it was hard to direct those few who were acquainted with him before his days as an Auror. They held grudges; were suspicious of his motives. And Draco hated explaining himself.

So yes, Draco was quite ready to find a seat under the magically-contained fire and close his eyes. Merlin, but he hated the holidays.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

**England**

**In an open field somewhere in the mid-western area of Rosewick Forest**

**December 25****th**

**4:34 am**

"Are we all set?" Kingsley asked, trying to catch everyone's eye to get the affirmative. Since when did their group get so big?

Andromeda sat tucked up against Ted's side. Their reunion had been heartwarming and greeted with a round of applause from the others. Behind them, Bill and Fleur were huddled under a thick blanket. Dean was propped against Lee in the next seat, with Dobby perched in the corner. Fred and George were peering over from their row, making faces at their housemate. Luna was behind them, speaking with Mr. Ollivander in her calm, distant way, which actually seemed to settle the wandmaker better than a calming charm.

His partner was the only one who didn't look over. Kingsley cast the floating spell and the Ferrari lifted into the air, hovering over the snow. Kingsley jumped up, grabbing the low wall and hoisting himself into the back most seat. Draco had been sprawled across the length, but now he dropped his feet to the floor and sat up.

The Ferrari jerked a bit as the thestrals jockeyed in the harness and beat their leathery wings. The passengers grabbed at the doors. There was a stomach-flipping dip, and then the convertible was being pulled higher, out of the forest and into the night sky. Luna had been right. It was exhilarating.

Kingsley watched the trees sink below them, and then the cold forced him to duck a little, to get away from the biting, whipping wind. He turned to Draco.

"You alright?" he asked. He'd checked Draco over before Ted had brought the car down, but it had only been cursory.

"Fine," said Draco. And then he seemed to consider the question. "I'm through," he announced decisively. "I've had it with playing at heroics. I want to retire somewhere along the coast. I'm picturing a modest estate, three floors at the most, and maybe a small ballroom in case I feel like throwing a party."

Kingsley laughed. "I hear you," he said. "Maybe I'll join you."

Draco looked down his nose. "You can have a cabin on the very edge of the estate. But if you start attracting trouble, I'll throw you off."

"Me?" Kingsley asked. "Attract trouble?"

"Hogwarts," said Draco. "The Philips. Reese River. Gordon Jefferies."

"First of all," said Kingsley, "the Philips were insane. And I had to go in because Pat was down. And the river does not count. You know that."

"Mora Seville," said Draco, crossing his arms. "_Mora Seville_."

If Kingsley blushed, it was so slight his dark skin showed no change. His partner had a point for her at least, not that he'd let Draco know.

"You want to play this game?" he asked. "Fine. Banks."

"What? No. That-,"

"The Followay Bridge."

"Hey, I saved your-,"

"Timothy Malone."

"Wait one-,"

Kingsley leaned in. "Nell Thatcher."

"That wasn't-,"

Kingsley held up a finger. "Lyle Pennington," he finished.

Draco gaped at him. "You think that was my fault?"

"I'm simply saying that your presence precipitated events that may have otherwise not taken place."

"Not taken place? The house was already haunted!"

"And who seemed to attract the ghostly presence?"

"Magnetic auras are myths. The Oracle was faking!"

"She warned you," said Kingsley. "And who didn't listen?"

"She was a fraud. A hustler. A charlatan!"

Kingsley shook his head. "That one's on you."

"Unbelievable," said Draco. "You are so entirely off-base."

"Magnetic aura," said Kingsley.

"Incredible. A ten year veteran of the IRS. She charmed you good."

"She was spot on."

"I'm not listening," said Draco.

"She was."

"Not hearing a word you say."

"You know I'm right."

"Delusional."

"Thought you weren't listen," said Kingsley.

"I'm sorry. Did you say something?" Draco asked.

Kingsley checked him with his shoulder. Draco responded with an elbow. They both grabbed onto the seat in front of them as the thestrals started their descent.

"Ollivander!" Ted yelled from the front seat. "This is your stop!"

"You sure you'll be safe here?" Kingsley asked. He looked down at the town below. Muggle. Small. Well-lit and perfectly still.

"I'll be fine," said Ollivander. "Just…how am I supposed to get down?"

Kingsley had a sudden vision of the Ferrari landing on a sloped roof, leaving hoof prints and tire treads in the snow behind them.

"No," said Draco. "No. How could you even-? It's my car, Kingsley."

Kingsley sighed. "Fine. I'll spell a rope then."

He and the twins lowered Ollivander to the street, somewhat awkwardly. They remained in a low hover until the wandmaker crossed the street and made it inside a particularly cozy-looking home.

Dean's house was next, and only two towns over. "It's new," he told Kingsley. "Mum moved when the whole…well, I don't think they know about it."

"Let Dobby help you down," said Kingsley, readying the rope. "And he can take you back to school when break is over. It's safe there now."

"You sure about that?" Dean asked. "Things were pretty ugly when I left."

"It's fixed," said Kingsley. "Believe me. Draco had Umbridge sacked."

The Gryffindor turned disbelieving eyes onto his partner. "You? Sacked Umbridge?"

"Ms. Umbridge had broken the law," said Draco curtly. "The proper procedures were followed, resulting in her arrest and subsequent termination. Control of the school was left solely in the hands of Albus Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore. You gave Dumbledore his job back?" Dean asked.

And Draco could have said yes, or nodded, or at least smiled to smooth everything over, but Draco being Draco, simply sniffed and said, "Well, it wasn't my first choice. I prefer Headmasters who aren't doddering old twats."

Kingsley groaned, but Dean actually laughed. "I see you're still Malfoy," he said. He awkwardly climbed over the car's edge and then looked back. "I won't see you at school, will I?"

"I have a job," said Draco.

Dean nodded. "Well, bye then, I guess."

And Dobby helped the Gryffindor down and once more they hovered, waiting until Dean rang the doorbell of a darkened home and a woman answered. The faint cry of joy echoed up to the car, and then Ted snapped the reigns and the thestrals were off again.

It was a longer trip back to the Burrow. Lee would be staying with the Weasleys, as now his name would be on a Ministry watch list. Luna would stay for the holiday as well before returning to Hogwarts so she could not be held as blackmail against her father again. Halfway there, Draco drifted to sleep. Kingsley moved a little closer, so when the next jerk of the thestrals caused the car to tip, Draco's head slipped to rest on his shoulder. By the time the thestrals touched down outside of the ramshackle house, the sun was just beginning to rise. The sky was tinged pink and pale yellow and the snow began to shine. It was going to be a beautiful day.

Kingsley tapped his partner's cheek. "Draco."

Draco stirred, rubbing his eyes and then sitting up. He winced, hissing slightly, and Kingsley knew that the bruises would be starting to sink in.

The light above the porch flicked on, and then the door burst open. Molly Weasley ran out in her nightdress, a shawl over her shoulders and a pair of boots on her feet. She was laughing and crying all at once. She ran to Fred and George, and they to her. Arthur followed close on her heels.

Tonks ran out barefoot, shouting "Mum! Mum, Dad!" Her mother scolded her, Ted laughed, and then Remus appeared, properly attired and swept her up in his arms.

Bill and Fleur ushered Lee and Luna inside. Draco followed, still rubbing his eyes. Kingsley looked at the reunited families and felt a small pang that he would miss his mother's party this year. It was the trouble with living so far away. Before this moment, he'd been more upset that the office party had been canceled, having found a family in the men and women of the IRS department. But there was something about a mother's embrace on Christmas that was the worst to miss at all.

He pulled the expansion spells away from the Ferrari, leaving the car perfectly proportioned again. The roof refit perfectly over the top. He vanished the harnesses next, but the thestrals didn't leave immediately, like he thought they would. Instead they tossed their heads, snorted, and walked a short distance away to curl up in the snow.

Kingsley headed inside. Lee and Luna were at the table. Fleur was heating up some tea and Bill was making eggs.

"Want some?" Bill asked.

Kingsley shook his head. "Where's Draco?"

"Went to clear out Ginny's room for Luna. Said he'd bunk with you," said Fleur.

Kingsley nodded and headed upstairs. Draco had dumped his belongings in a corner of the room. The armchair in the corner had been transfigured again into a bed. Draco was face down on top of it.

"Draco," said Kingsley.

Draco moaned and pulled a pillow over his head.

"At least take your boots off," said Kingsley.

Draco didn't move. Kingsley sighed and shook his head. He pulled the boots off for him, and then tugged on Draco's arm until he sat up.

"Coat," said Kingsley.

Draco grudgingly pulled the duster off and then removed his shoulder harness. He flopped back down and Kingsley pulled a quilt off his bed to lay over his partner.

"We did good," he said. "You did good."

Draco grunted and rolled over.

"And hey, you've found your family for the holiday. That's nice, yeah?"

Draco pulled the pillow back over his head.

"Hey. Who's supposed to be the one with the youthful energy?" Kingsley asked. He laughed when Draco pulled the quilt over his head as well.

He yawned suddenly, violently. Apparently his partner had the right idea. Kingsley pulled off his own coat and boots. He crawled into bed and gave a contented sigh.

"Happy Christmas, Draco," he said.

"Dear Merlin, would you please shut up?"

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

So, an epilogue left, then I return to the Decoding. Please leave a review.


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